


How To Train A New Pet

by carolinelamb



Category: Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Unrelated (2007)
Genre: Anal, Anonymous Sex, Bestiality, Blackmail, Bukkake, Collars, Crossdressing, Cruising, Daddy Kink, Dog - Freeform, Dom!Chris, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gangbang, Glory Hole, Going to Hell, Hiddlesworth, Humiliation, I'm Sorry, Knotting, M/M, Non-Consensual, Orgy, Other, Public Sex, Punishment, Rough Oral Sex, Slavery, Slut Shaming, Slut Tom, Sub!Tom, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports, auto-fellatio, auto-penetration, bottom!Tom, self fuck, self-suck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinelamb/pseuds/carolinelamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Gardener and ex-con Chris is grateful for his new job as the Hiddleston's gardener, if it weren't for their snotty, arrogant son Tom. Time to teach him a lesson.</p><p>Tom in this fic is also sort of borrowed from Joanna Hogg's Unrelated, in which he plays spoiled, entitled brat Oakley. I had him in mind when writing this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is as much out-of-character Tom and out-of-character Chris as it gets I guess. And yeah, and if there is a hell I am going to hell. 
> 
> Currently this is a one-shot, but I may continue. Or I may just get psychotherapy.
> 
>  
> 
> **PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS: CAVE CANEM :P**
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe now would be a good moment to say that I'm sorry.
> 
> * * *

The boy was home.

_Shit._

As soon as Chris heard the jeep roaring up the drive way he stiffened, then muttered a few curses under his breath. The Hiddlestons were nice enough but he couldn’t stand their snotty little brat of a son. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his underarm, and continued trimming the bush.

When his boss, Mr. Hiddleston, had introduced Chris to his son Tom, he had enthusiastically stretched out his hand to shake Tom’s, but the boy had looked at his hand with a raised eyebrow and an almost astonished, gentle smile. 

The father, who had his back turned to them to take a phone call, had not noticed.

It had been a bad omen, but Chris needed this job.

Sure enough, the day Chris started to come around every week to work in the garden, Tom began ordering him around, as if he was a butler. For a reason he didn't quite understand, Tom was also always at home, when Chris had to work. It seemed as if he enjoyed giving Chris tasks, letting him work, watching him.

Theoretically Chris could complain—either to Mr. Hiddleston, or to the agency who had sent him here but being freshly out of prison, Chris couldn’t risk alienating his new boss and so he kept his mouth shut. if the agency would think he was hard to employ, he wouldn't get anything after this gig.

He finished working on the bush, wiping his forehead with his t-shirt to find the boy looking at him, wearing nothing but blue swim shorts. One of his buddies was standing beside him grinning.

„Hi, Mr. Hiddleston,“ he said and bent down to gather his tools.

„Wash the jeep, when you’re done here,“ Tom snapped, scrunching up his nose like he was smelling shit. 

„Yes, Mr. Hiddleston,“ he said meekly.

„It’s sir,“ the boy corrected him. His friend laughed out loud, then high-fived him.

Chris gritted his teeth.

„Yes, _sir_ ,“ he said.

Tom and his friend sniggered, then went into the house. Chris followed him with his eyes, the way his hips swayed ever so lightly and the fabric of the swim shorts clung to his round perky ass, imagining for one moment how nice it would feel to give that brat a spanking.

Just this summer, he promised himself. He needed the cash, needed to get back onto his feet, get settled. Once he had worked a few months for the Hiddlestons he could look for another job, something more permanent. For now he needed to stay put. 

The Hiddlestons were mellow, sweet people and were no match against Tom, who was charming when he wanted to and ruthless when he needed to. They had no fucking clue, that much Chris knew. Especially the father who was one of these academics—married to their jobs and probably geniuses at what they’re doing, but hapless in real life.

„And clean up the mess around the tree house,“ the boy called from the house.

The tree house was opposite the house, a construction the parents had once built for a lavish garden party years ago. In fact Chris’ own interview had taken place in the tree house. It was not a tree house per se, but a very nice wooden outlook with a small terrace-like area on top, providing just enough space for a couch and a decently sized couch table overlooking the garden. Mrs. Hiddleston said, they still used it for their monthly dates. „You can go up whenever you like,“ she had told him. „It’s such a gorgeous place to relax, but my husband and me don’t have much time, and Tom doesn't like it up there.“

He waved back at Tom, gesturing that he had understood, putting on a friendly smile. Tom didn't react. He only coolly nodded, then vanished into the house.

Maybe that boy _needed_ a good spanking, not some weakass dad who always looked through him, as if he (and anyone else for that matter) was invisible.

Chris had to hurry with the garden work, to be able to wash the car before it got dark. The hose didn’t work properly and cursing, Chris had to waste half an hour to look for the right fitting. He nearly got a heart attack when a large shadow jumped at him and barked.

„Fuck, Rex,“ he swore. „Are you trying to kill me?“

Rex, the Hiddleston's huge German shepherd dog sniffed and licked his shin, then looked at him with his large, wet puppy eyes. Chris could never resist this dog. According to Mrs. Hiddleston they had bought the dog as a puppy a few years ago to guard the house—a complete failure. Turned out that Rex was the most gentle, peaceful dog ever, who would hide under the dining table when there was a thunderstorm outside and was afraid of cats, when he didn’t foolishly try to befriend them. 

It was impossible to dislike this huge baby of a dog, and Rex took immediately to him too, barking enthusiastically and refusing to leave him out of sight, as soon as Chris entered the property.

Chris soon became used to give Rex little treats, for which the dog learned to search, always nosing his pockets, and pawing his legs.

Rex woofed softly, then let out a sound as if he was snorting, and sat on his haunches, watching while Chris washed the Jeep. Chris started talking to the dog, because it was nice to have someone to chat with. The dog was smart in his way, always emphatically tilting his head, sometimes barking softly as if he agreed. When Chris had some money together he would buy himself a dog, just one like Rex, to keep himself company. 

„Rex!“ Tom’s impatient voice echoed over from the shadowed entrance of the house. His friend was getting picked up by a girl driving a fancy Alfa Romeo coupé. Rex looked almost apologetic as he whined softly and ducked away to pad over to Tom.

Tom shielded his eyes, narrowing them at Chris.

„What the fuck are you looking at?“ Chris muttered at himself. Just to annoy the scrawny kid he pulled his t-shirt up again, and wiped his face, showing his abs off. He had a lot of time to kill at prison. And the importance of remaining physically in great shape was one of the most important lessons Chris had learned early on in his life. When he looked up the kid was still looking at him, but sneering. Then suddenly he laughed and walked back into the house, the dog following him.

Something inside Chris’ brain clicked. Like a switch. He felt himself seething. That kind of smug look. The self-satisfied arrogance. Rich, spoilt kids like him. God, how he hated them. All his life he had endured them, looking down on him and his family, treating them as they were dirt.

_What the fuck are you laughing at?_

Fury bubbled up in him, and he clenched his fists. 

_Stay calm, Hemsworth._

For a moment Chris allowed himself to daydream how Tom would look like with a cock in his mouth, on his knees, naked, begging. 

That Hiddleston boy was beautiful. Beautiful like a piece of porcelain, like an unmarred, pretty doll, lightly tanned, with glowing, healthy skin, slender hips, soft belly, despite the otherwise lean body, strangely effeminate androgynous. The immaculate face with the red, little mouth and the perfect cheeks and the impossibly huge eyes and long black lashes could belong to an angel.

He shook his head, gathered his tools, hosed the shears, removed some of the worst dirt of his shovel and put them onto his truck. He was about to get into the truck and leave as fast as possible, when he got a text from Mrs. Hiddleston.

„Hi, Chris! Sorry we left in a hurry and will be away for two weeks. We left you a cheque on Mr. Hiddleston’s desk, in his study. Please ask Tom to get it for you, if he’s home, and if not use the door code: 8329. We’ll see you when we’re back! And thanks for wrestling with our garden! Diana and James“

Trusting people. He could use the door code and drive off with their belongings. He shook his head in disbelief at their gullibility, slammed the truck door shut and walked to the house.

No need to ring down Tom. The entrance door was open. He could just go into the study and help himself to the cheque. There was no way he’d spent deliberately more time than absolutely necessary with Tom.

He’d only been once in this house. It was huge, the entry hall tiled with marble. Hesitantly he walked in, wary of bumping into Tom—there was no sight of him though, or Rex. They were probably upstairs. Weird, Chris thought. Tom was never really affectionate with the dog. He didn’t seem to like him much. And yet he’d come out sometimes and call for him. 

Maybe people like Tom just liked to control things, to boss them around.

Thankfully Chris found the study, and an envelope with a cheque with his name on it. It was generous, and more than the agreed sum. His heart warmed at their kindness. Honestly, how could people as sweet as Diane and James end up with a son like Tom? 

He put the envelope into his jeans pocket when he suddenly heard the softest sigh, so soft it was barely audible and yet it carried in the absolute silence of the house.

Chris froze. 

He stood still for several minutes, waiting—for what he couldn’t say. The sound—it had sounded like sex, unmistakeably Tom’s voice. 

He shrugged. After all the boy was seventeen or eighteen. Of course he would jerk off, probably watching porntube clips. Then he heard the dog bark and he moved, eager to get out of the house.

He was sitting in his truck, the key in the ignition when he saw the tree house. 

Fuck. He had forgotten the tree house. Cursing he got out of the car, picked up his waxed canvas bag with his shears and other tools and stomped over to the tree house. There wasn’t much to do, except for cleaning up the little mini pond and waterfall at the foot of the tree house, the stone steps, tiled with fern-patterned ceramic tiles, pulling and cutting away weeds. After twenty minutes he was done.

He glanced up, and saw that the top of the tree house was the same height as Tom’s window. A huge tree used to barricade the sight to the house a few weeks earlier, but he had persuaded Mr. Hiddleston to let him cut a few of the branches. 

Later he would never understand why he did it, but instead of going back to his truck he found himself climbing up the ladder of the tree house. Maybe he intended to just have a look at the garden and the lawn from up there, see if there was more to do. Once on the top he realized he was looking right into Tom's room. He could have turned around and climbed down again, but noticed Tom’s windows were open. White, long curtains were moving in the breeze. There was movement in the room. 

Then he saw Tom.

It took a few seconds for Chris to put the image before his eyes together. Tom was right in front of the window, beside his bed. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing ... and he was on his hands and knees, ass in the air. Chris realized that he was hiding behind the bed—the door was on the other side. 

And Rex was there, too. Tom was pushing his ass up. From the distance he couldn’t hear Tom, but he looked impatient and bossy, pulling at the dogs front legs, then at the collar. Rex sniffed at his ass, gave him a few licks across his pucker.

Tom enthusiastically pushed back.

_Fuck._

Tom started stroking his own prick, and laid his head onto a white towel underneath him. He seemed to be in absolute bliss, his pink lips forming an „o“.

Tom pushed himself up on his elbows, and tugged at the collar again, then pulled the dog’s forepaws. Rex seemed hesitant. Only when Tom began making rocking motions with ass, practically pushing it into Rex’ wet snout, the dog gave him another lick, then suddenly jumped up and gripped Tom with his paws. His hips were moving, searching for Tom’s boy cunt. Impatiently Tom reached behind, and guide the dog’s cock into his hole.

Within moments both were moving enthusiastically.

Tom was getting fucked by his dog, his face distorted with pleasure, and, with what Chris imagined, was pain. His red, stiff prick was bouncing against his belly. 

Chris had watched his fair share of porn and yes, he had watched the occasional bestiality clip but he had never seen a person being fucked by an animal. And somehow it didn’t look as if this was the boy’s first time. He took it like an experienced, eager cock slut, moaning, and rocking back into his dog. 

Without even thinking Chris fished for his phone and took his cock out at the same time. With one hand he slid the phone open, activated the camera, snapped pictures. From this distance the pictures wouldn’t be great, but they would suffice. 

He took a video as well. God, this was too good.

This little _whore_. 

It looked as if the dog was close. He moved even faster and Tom pressed his face into the rug, his entire face flushed. His hand moved frantically up and down his own cock. Then Rex stiffened—obviously coming. He pushed in and delivered one deep, vicious thrust, and Tom gasped, his eyes suddenly wide open, arched, then came, spurting onto the towel. His mouth hung open. He fondled his own nipples, rubbing and pinching them.

Chris grinned. This was just gold. He stroke his own cock, now hard as a rock. The dog was still on top of him, moving slower now, and pulling. Tom, exhausted, twisted his upper body to calm the dog and held him by the paws, but the dog yanked free and tried to get away. Tom crab-walked a bit back, followed Rex movements, and Chris realized that Rex had knotted Tom, like the bitch he was.

Fuck. 

Rex turned around so he was ass to ass with Tom. Somehow this movement must have hurt Tom, because he shuddered and trembled. He was still fucking back, although his red cock had gone soft and limp.

Chris wanted to last longer, but the image of Tom being knotted to his own dog, was too much. With a groan he came, spurting over the wooden railing.

He closed his phone, then climbed down the tree house. He stood for a while in front of the house, warring with himself.

It was a bad idea. Then again, now he had Tom in his hand. These pics and the video could ruin his reputation. How would his fancy friends in school react if they knew that wealthy, wholesome, Hilfiger-wearing Tom Hiddleston liked being knotted by his dog in his free-time. That while he pretended to be like any other of the popular kids in high school, he loved dog cock.

Yes, Tom was in his hand. Something ugly awoke in Chris' chest.

He walked back into the house. Softly he tread up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. Upstairs the thickly carpeted floor swallowed any sound his footsteps could make.

Finally he stood in front of Tom’s room. Instead of knocking he tried his luck and pushed against the door—it opened, and Chris nearly laughed. The stupid slut had left it open. Did he _want_ to be caught?

He crossed the room, and rounded the bed. Tom’s expression when he saw Chris entering was priceless, a mix of shock, shame and fury. He was still on his knees, now trying to cover himself up but the dog was knotted inside him.

Chris bent down, sneering at Tom and petting Rex who looked woefully at him. 

„Did you find yourself a bitch?“ he asked the dog, grinning. „Did you find a cumslut to breed?“

The dog barked, pleased to see Chris.

„Oh, you did, didn’t you?“ Chris tousled the dog’s mane.

„Fuck off,“ Tom yelped, but then Chris stood up, and brought his booted foot on Tom's neck and pinned him to the rug.

„Quiet, slut,“ he said. 

Tom tried to say something but was muffled by the towel he was pressed into. Chris managed to move the straining dog back, so his knot was sliding deeper into the boy, who moaned, shuddering again. The dog whined when Tom clenched around him.

„Were you saying something, slut?“ Chris asked, enjoying himself more and more. 

„Nnngh,“ Tom moaned. „Ohgodohgodohgod.“ 

Tom panted, then tried to push himself up on his elbows.

Chris pushed Rex again back into Tom, and Tom gave up on trying to get up and arched his sweaty, pale back, slid his bony legs even further apart, taking the dog’s cock as deep as possible.

„Ohgod ... please,“ he babbled.

The way he convulsed, it seemed he was coming again. While Tom was orgasming, the dog looked bored. Chris hid his fascination under a sneer. Sadistically he pretended to calm Rex but kept him aroused, stroking his thick fur, even applying a little pressure onto his back, so his knot didn’t deflate.

The boy was shaking during the whole time, panting and writhing deliciously. By now he must have been in pain, but he seemed determined to savor each second of this fucking, to literally get _everything_ out of it. 

Chris pulled his phone out of the pocket, and showed Tom the video he had made earlier of Tom getting Rex to fuck him. 

„What do you think are your parents going to do, when they see this, hm?“ he said. Tom watched himself, a strange look on his face. When Chris turned the phone off, he sobbed like a child. Nothing of the proud, arrogant boy who had ordered Chris around only an hour ago, had remained. Instead Tom seemed to crumble in shame. „I can easily get this circulated in your school. I’m sure that will make you _really_ popular.“

„Please,“ Tom begged, tears in his eyes. „Please don’t. I’ll do whatever you say.“

„I bet you do,“ Chris said, slapping his pretty face. He had not known what great satisfaction he would feel in humiliating Tom, but the pleasure was undeniable. And the best thing was, that somehow Tom seemed to be unable to keep himself from enjoying it too. His prick was already halfhard again.

„Look at yourself, you dirty cumslut,“ Chris taunted him. 

Chris had not felt as good since he had been imprisoned five years ago. He continued taking pictures and got a few exquisite shots of the root of the dog’s thick knot stuck in Tom’s reddened, swollen hole with Tom’s flushed face, distorted in ecstasy. Every movement made Tom’s cock twitch and Chris understood that his prostate was being massaged and stimulated mercilessly. A string of clear cum connected the tip to the floor.

When Rex growled, and moved his hind-legs, Tom’s panting turned high-pitched. He breathed open-mouthed into the rug, his eyes squeezed shut.

„You sound exactly like a bitch,“ Chris told Tom. God, it felt good, to tell him. And it felt good to see, how helpless Tom was, knotted and tied. „You _look_ like one too, you little dog slut.“

Chris saw that the large wardrobe beside the door had a tall mirror, and after lifting Rex’ tail to check if he was still firmly lodged in Tom’s ass, he dragged the dog with him. Tom screamed, but had no other choice than to follow, and Chris savored the look of the arrogant kid scrambling naked on all fours backwards, knotted to his dog, face screwed up in what looked like shame and pain.

When he had the dog and the boy where he wanted them, in front of the mirror, Chris pulled out his own sticky cock, holding it into Tom’s face. It was already hard again.

Tom opened his mouth instantly and took the stiff prick into his mouth, his face a picture of subservient gratitude. He licked and sucked off the spunk, cleaned his cock with a pink, nimble tongue, then closed his lips around it.

Tom’s closed eyes angered Chris, and he slapped Tom.

„Look at me, slut,“ he said in a voice he didn’t even recognize himself.

Tom opened his eyes.

„Not so high and mighty, with your dog’s cock in your ass and my cock in your mouth, huh?“ he said angrily. „Aren’t you sorry now for treating me like dirt?“

Tom only moaned and sucked harder.

Chris slapped him again.

„Say it, you whore.“

Tom breathed heavily, biting his lips, but remained silent.

Chris made a show of pulling out his phone again. 

„I have some buddies, who would really dig the little clip I made,“ he said.

„Please, don’t!“ Tom exclaimed hastily. „I’m sorry!“

Chris grinned, looking down on Tom’s pretty face.

He turned the camera on and began filming Tom.

„Are you a filthy whore?“

Tom hesitated for only a moment.

„Yes,“ he said, looking into the camera. His usually aquamarine eyes were nearly black and huge. „I am.“

„Say it then.“

„I’m a filthy whore.“

„And you’re nothing but a dumb cumslut.“

„I’m a dumb cum slut.“ 

To Chris satisfaction he had tears in his eyes. 

He put the phone away, grabbed Tom’s curls and began to fuck his mouth. Tom’s high-pitched whining excited him further.

„Does that turn you on, slut?“

It seemed indeed that his talk excited Tom, who sucked Chris’ cock even harder than before, making all sorts of lewd, slurping noises. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of Chris’ thick cock, stuffing it deeper into him, swallowing around it.

Then Chris pulled out, holding Tom’s mouth with one hand wide open, and spurted across his face—letting him swallow a good, hot load, but mostly covering his face and his hair with thick white cum. 

When Chris took his phone out again, snapping pictures of Tom’s cum-covered face, he seemed to want to protest, but it was hard to be articulate, what with Chris spunk in his open mouth. Chris slapped Tom across the face.

Tom stilled to Chris’ surprise, now looking up at him, keeping his mouth obediently open, and displaying Chris’ load in it. 

„That’s it, you fuck slut,“ Chris said roughly, and made a show of taking Tom’s picture. He allowed Tom to swallow the load down, but not to clean his face. 

"Clean me up," he said, and Tom immediately went to work, licked him clean until Chris pushed his face away with his boot. 

He glanced down at the boy’s now completely stiff, leaking cock.

After a while the dog’s knot deflated a little and Tom attempted to pull it out, but it was too early and Chris didn’t let him. Rex growled, annoyed. By now he was really impatient to get away. Chris was partly amused how indifferent he looked while Tom was softly moaning, „Yesohyesyesyes,“ still lost in his pleasure. He pinched his own nipples. Lazily Chris kept his camera trained on Tom and Rex. Dog cum made its way out of Tom’s hole and kept streaking his trembling thighs, pooling on the hardwood floor. Whenever Tom pushed back, Rex growled again, probably oversensitive.

Chris put his boot back onto Tom’s face again, pressing him onto the floor, while guiding the dog, so he was fucking Tom again.

Tom moaned, moving frantically. Chris did not permit him to touch his cock though and Tom continued rubbing and pinching his nipples instead.

Finally Rex gave another hard thrust, growling and whining, almost as if he was fed up with his bitch, and Tom came, face and chest flushed, trembling and shuddering.

„Oh yes, oh fuck yes,“ he screamed, fucking himself on the dog’s cock, riding out his orgasm. He twitched and shook for a long time, then finally hung limp on Rex’ cock, his eyes closed, panting.

Five minutes later Rex’ cock deflated enough to be pulled out, although Chris had to apply a bit of force. He could have waited another five or ten minutes obviously, but he wanted to see Tom’s filthy, cum-soaked hole stretching around the bulb.

Tom groaned in pain, clawing at the floor, then sobbed. Chris pulled harder, then the slimy cock slipped out of Tom’s ass. Watery dog cum gushed out, covering the inside and backside of his thighs, splattering onto the floor. Tom tried to cover his gaping hole with his hand, but Chris would have none of it, and even moved his phone closer to the hole. It had been stretched so much, that it didn’t close itself, even though Tom was clenching.

„Look at the mess you made, you dirty cunt,“ Chris growled. Tom whined, laying his face down on the floor, his ass still in the air. 

„Clean that up,“ Chris ordered.

Tom looked at the impressive puddle of cum between his legs and tried to scoot away, shaking his head, but Chris grabbed him by his curls again and pushed him face first into the cum, like one would do with an errant dog.

„I said, clean that up, you stupid cunt!“ 

After a moment of hesitation Tom’s face distorted in obvious disgust, and new tears leaked out of his face. Sniffing and sobbing he started to lick the floor clean. 

Chris was satisfied. 

„Yeah, that’ s what you’re good for, whore,“ he said in a derisive tone. Tom sobbed quietly, defeated.

Chris sat back on the bed, watching the boy on the floor. When it became clear that Tom wouldn’t say anything, he pushed him with his boot. Tom whimpered. 

„From now on you’re my slut, do you understand?“ he said. Tom didn’t say anything anymore. He slowly looked him in the eyes and nodded.

„Say it.“

„I’m your slut,“ Tom said, his voice hoarse.

Now that his high from his orgasm was abating, he seemed to realize in what kind of situation he was in.

„Whatever I tell you to do, you’ll do it, do you understand?“ Chris leaned forward and took Tom’s chin into his head. Tom nodded, then quickly, as if he feared repercussions, repeated his words.

Chris smiled. Maybe whores like Tom could be trained.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it goes on. Why, no one knows, but I am not sorry. Please heed the tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies—since this is simple relaxation therapy for me, this isn't beta'ed.
> 
> * * *

Tom’s jeep was parked in the driveway but the boy was nowhere to be seen. When he looked up, he saw that the windows to his room were shut and the blinds were down. 

It was scorching hot, the peak of summer, and watering the plants and adjusting the sprinklers took a long time. 

He moved too slowly. He felt his blood was coagulated sludge in his veins. 

Finally he went inside the cool, air-conditioned house, helped himself to a glass of water and then went out through the back door to check the garden in the back and the swimming pool he had to take care of too.

There were a few Japanese leafy plants growing close the house Mrs. Hiddleston was very fond of, and he made sure to check on the sprinklers there and hose them down. The grass was higher here, not as short and manicured as the front. 

Chris spent most of his time trimming the hedges around the pool area, watered the gigantic bird of paradise and the porcupine grass. Not once did the boy come out. Occasionally he could hear the faint sound of a video game, but he couldn’t be sure.

When the sun was the hottest, a white ball in the sky, he headed into the house for a break, which the Hiddlestons had allowed him to do. He ate his peanutbutter sandwich, drank another large glass of water, staring out of the kitchen window at the rosemary and thyme which were planted in a cooler, shadier patch.

Once he thought hearing a door upstairs open, then shut again, and soft steps of bare feet on a thick carpet.

After twenty minutes he continued to work until the sunlight turned into the color of soft yolk. 

All the time he was keenly aware of the shut blinds, felt the boy’s eyes on his back. The boy’s tension seemed to inhibit the entire house like a waiting ghost, and the longer Chris waited to go upstairs the more he perversely enjoyed himself. 

Sometimes he amused himself by walking to his car, fussing with the glove compartment, opening the trunk to put in one of his tools, just to play with the boy who probably thought he was ready to leave. Then he’d slam the door shut and walk back into the garden.

At the end of the day he smiled and whistled. The sun blazed orange for a short wile, then slowly descended behind the house, and a jasmine-scented, cooler breeze rose.

To reward himself he climbed up the step ladder to the tree house and sat down on the couch facing Tom’s window. For fifteen minutes he did nothing, but just close his eyes and feel the evening breeze on his face.

Listening to the wind was like listening to music. If the song of the evening breeze was so sweet, so soothing, nothing bad could ever happen. 

He pulled out his phone, checked messages and his Facebook, liked random stuff on there, scrolled through Grindr, through his OKC profile, clicked a few messages, then pocketed it. Leisurely he got up, walked up to the wooden rails and stretched his arms, while watching the blinds with a half-closed eyes.

He made a show of turning around as if he was going to climb down the ladder but then in the last minute, let himself plonk down onto the couch again and pulled out his phone again.

„Open the blinds,“ he typed, then sent the message to Tom.

Smiling he waited.

After a while he saw the blinds go up. Tom stood at the window, his face blank, wearing a blue t-shirt and faded board shorts. 

„Undress,“ Chris typed.

He watched Tom walking to his desk, look at the phone, then looking at him. From the distance he couldn’t see the expression on the face, but it looked like thinly concealed hatred. 

Chris grinned.

„Closer to the window. I want to see you,“ he typed.

Tom walked close to the window, then took his t-shirt off and threw it onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned and zipped open his shorts, then pushed his shorts to the floor.

He was already hard, that little slut. Even from that distance he could see how Tom had his eyes lowered.

Chris thought, then wrote, „Get down on your knees.“

Tom obeyed, sinking onto his knees.

It was like being high on excellent stuff. All of this wasn’t real, Chris thought. It couldn’t be. Any moment he’d wake up in his cell in prison.  
Chris had never thought these kind of games would excite him that much. The few experiences with dominance games he had had when he’d been younger had never been that great, never that _intense_. 

„Turn around and show me your hole,“ Chris typed, now painfully hard.

Tom skidded around on his knees. He reached behind with both his hands and pried his cheeks apart. Chris didn’t even see his hole, but Tom’s submissive posture was enough to make his breath hitch.

How fast he was to obey. Were it not for Tom’s hateful eyes it would be disappointing.

„Play with your hole,“ he typed, then added „Slut“ before he sent the text off.

Chris could see how Tom’s sucked his fingers then began fingering his hole. 

He got up, walked to the railing. It was a scene of weird beauty, this golden, naked boy contorting himself for him. For a moment it wasn’t even about humiliation any longer. It was about this graceful body, the long, pale limbs. 

Something about this burned in Chris’ chest. He felt he was watching a unique moment, the wonder of a firefly in a summernight before it faded and died. 

In a way he could not completely understand Tom’s meek compliance. Yes, he did have him in hand, and the video could destroy Tom’s life—but wouldn’t he be less eager still? Angrier? Would he not resist more? On the other hand, if Chris had learned anything in prison was to not question good things happening to one and to ride with the flow.

He couldn’t see how many fingers he had in his hole, but he was fingering himself like a pro, fucking himself in a smooth motion, sinking them with ease to the knuckles. Well, his hole could take a lot more than just a few fingers.

He climbed down and went inside the villa. He took his time before lesiurely walking upstairs, letting his hand glide over the cool, expensive wood of the railing. 

Tom was still on his knees when he entered the room. As if waiting for a command he had his forehead pressed onto the floor, his ass raised. The lean thighs were trembling.

Chris closed the door behind him and leant against it, watching Tom opening himself up. Then he pushed himself off and crossed the room, yanking Tom’s head up. His eyes were nearly black, his lips red and swollen. Chris had never ever seen anything more fascinating. Tom was like an animal, a sleek, hungry cat.

„Who do you belong to?“ he asked.

Tom pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes to hostile slits.

Chris yanked harder. Tom’s eyes lidded. 

„Answer, slut,“ he growled.

Tom had the gall to laugh at him, breathlessly.

„You pathetic filth,“ he spat. „I’ve got nothing to say to you.“

Chris was momentarily so stunned he let go of Tom’s hair but despite his outburst Tom continued to finger himself looking up at Chris with heavy lidded, lust-filled eyes.

He licked his lips.

„You like this?“ Tom asked, no trace of his outburst from before in his voice. „You like seeing me like this?“

Chris decided not to dwell on Tom’s momentary lapse and focused on the proceedings. As an answer he palmed his cock, through his jeans. Tom’s eyes slid down towards his crotch. An eager, needy yet sly look flitted across his features.

Chris unzipped his trousers, and pulled his cock out, stroking it, holding it close at Tom’s wanton face.

„You want that, slut?“ he said hoarsely.

As an answer Tom parted his lips, stretched out his pink, wet tongue, trying to reach the cock in front of him. Chris could feel Tom’ breath on his glans, a hot, moist caress.

Then Tom said, „Please.“

Chris sat down on Tom’s neatly made bed and spread his legs. Tom crawled into the space between them and mouthed the underside of the shaft, licking and kissing it. He took Chris’ balls into his mouth, very gently pressing the broad side of his tongue against them, and Chris groaned with the pleasure. 

„You’re good at that,“ he told Tom. „Bet you do that often.“

A wicked gleam entered Tom’s eyes, and Chris laughed, „Of course you do.“

Tom moved his mouth upwards again, licking the swollen, hot shaft until he reached the glans and teased him a bit, swirling his tongue around the ridge, flicking it over the frenulum. It was evident, that this was the prelude to the main course, the way the muscles in Tom’s back shifted, the way he crawled closer, with one hand steadying himself on Chris’ thighs, the other reaching up to cradle his wet balls in his hand.

Chris pushed upwards, trying to get more of Tom’s hot tongue. Tom straightened up and a moment later his mouth slid over Chris’ cock. He moaned loudly and with abandon—almost as if he had a G-spot in his slut mouth, Chris thought, looking down at Tom’s closed eyes, his devoted expression, the flush on his cheeks and the slight furrow between his eyes. 

Suddenly Tom began to move his head, fucking himself on Chris’ cock, expertly deep-throating him, and each time Chris’ felt Tom’s narrow throat enveloping the tip of his cock he kept himself from shooting by digging his nails into his palms. Tom seemed to have no gag reflex whatsoever, and slurped and licked him without restraint, at some point pushing him so far down his throat, that his nose was buried in Chris’ darkblond pubic hair.

„Oh, you fucking cumslut,“ Chris crooned, „you little whore.“

The wet heat around his cock drove Chris to say more and more crazed things, to push into Tom’s mouth, to grab his golden curls.

When he felt he was close, he abruptly pushed Tom off with his boot.

„Turn around,“ he ordered. Tom hurried to obey, presenting his pink, swollen hole. Chris spat with demonstrative derision onto his hole, then rubbed the spit roughly into him, fucking him with his middle finger.

Tom moaned again, pressing his face onto the floor to raise his ass higher. Chris could see the tension in the arched back, the beautifully stretched thighs, his trembling fingers as he pulled his cheeks apart to present himself. Chris spat again, enjoying how the boy flinched under this insulting treatment but couldn’t help begging for more, as Chris fingerfucked him.

„That’s what you’ve been waiting for, faggot?“ he asked, then crooked his fingers, searching out the bump in the channel. Tom reacted in a far more intense manner he had expected, arched his back even more, his hands scrabbling at the hardwood floor, involuntarily clenching. He was panting now, like a bitch in heat, openmouthed and deliciously needy.

„Please,“ he whined, „oh god, please. Just ...“

He moved, fucking himself onto Chris’ fingers. 

Chris pulled his fingers out, teasing the red, puckered rim wit his finger tips.

„What is it, slut?“ he asked, in a mock-tender voice.

Tom gritted his teeth, spread his legs even further, but Chris would have none of it. With his other hand he pressed down onto Tom’s tailbone, keeping him in place. He bent over Tom’s back, briefly studying the light sheen of sweat on it.

„Beg for it, whore,“ he told Tom.

Tom had his eyes scrunched shut, biting his lips.

Chris rubbed his taint.

„Come on,“ Tom said, clenching again. „Give it to me. Please. Give me your cock, please.“

Chris released him, pushed his fingers in, while preparing his cock with even more spit. Enough for a long, drawn out fucking. 

Tom moaned again, moving frantically, his entire body a plea for the fucking he needed, he craved so much.

Chris allowed himself to admire that picture of absolute submission that Tom presented, positioning his cock at Tom’s hungry, grasping hole, then inched his way in. It slid in easily yet was so tight, Chris’ vision whited out. Tom pushed back like the slut he was, until Chris’ balls were pressed against his taint. 

„Ohgodyesyesyes,“ Tom screamed, stroking his own prick now and rubbing his nipples. He immediately set a mad rythm, greedy and desperate, and Chris amused by the wantonness of his slut, let him.

Fascinated he watched as his cock was swallowed by Tom’s hole, skin streching tight as it struggled to accommodate Chris’ girth. The fact that Tom didn’t even need a moment to get used to the fat cock in his ass, made him think. How many cocks did this slut take? Did he fuck himself secretly, had he stashed away a sizeable dildo hidden in a drawer underneath his folded Abercrombie and Fitch boxers or his laundry-scented Tommy Hilfiger polos? 

Did he already engage in the art of cruising, driving to parking lots, public toilets and parks far and outside this town, stuffing cocks into his hole at every opportunity? 

Wasn’t he a bit young for that? Chris had started to cruise himself when he was eighteen, dragged along by a group of older friends and he’d been one of the youngest in the park, but Tom seemed experienced, and far more needy and slutty than he’d ever been.

Or maybe he had secret fuck buddies at school, other boys who were gay and still in the closet. He imagined furtive encounters in empty class rooms, gropings in the library, pressed into dark corners.

When he felt the spit drying, Tom spat into his hand and smeared the glob onto Chris’ cock, then continued the wild fucking, now grunting and moaning loudly with every thrust. Inspired, Chris reached out and grabbed a handful of Tom’s golden curls and yanked him up, fucking brutally into him.

Maybe Tom had a favourite teacher, maybe he was, literally, a teacher’s pet, offering his hole in exchange for good grades. Chris imagined briefly a full class room and Tom kneeling underneath a desk, hungrily sucking a teacher off. 

Or maybe Tom was the team slut in one of the sports teams he was in, servicing everyone of the team members, letting them fuck him in the locker room, shoot their loads into his greedy hole, sucking them off in the shower with the same wanton expression on his face he had had when he had sucked Chris before. 

He imagined Tom on his kneees, surrounded by three, four, five, maybe more men, sobbing and coming hard, while sucking and stroking every cock in his reach. When he imagined how Tom would be covered in the cum of all the other faceless men he sped up his rythm, fucked harder, aiming for the prostate, and judging from Tom’s screams and breathless moans he found it every time.

Tom screamed like a banshee, howling a frantic litany of ohgodyes and pleasefuckmes. He pushed himself back once more, than suddenly grew almost painfully tight, clamped down onto his cock and literally rippled and fluttered in a way no one, not even a talent like Tom could have done deliberately. 

Chris thought he’d black out.

„Fuck,“ he managed to grit out, but Tom began shaking and trembling, arching like a cat, chanting something that sounded like „Coming“. 

„Look at you, you fuck slut,“ Chris said, „you filthy whore.“

Through the haze of his own lust he watched Tom’s orgasm which looked more intense than any orgasm he had ever seen before.

Finally when Tom’s knees seemed to give out, he caught him, pulled him up, and fucked brutally into him, cherishing Tom’s whimpers and soft moans.

Tom continued to clench around him, hard, and for one moment Chris thought he’d pass out from the sheer pleasure of feeling Tom around him and then came, filling up his hole hot, grasping hole with his hot load. 

„Take it, you slut,“ he mumbled and Tom gave a final little squeeze. When he pulled out, the spunk oozed out of the reddened hole. It had been stretched so far, it gaped open. 

Chris bent down and inhaled the boy’s ripe smell of cum and sweat. There was an underlying sweet scent, barely noticeable, but nonetheless there, almost like vanilla. The temptation to pull him up, lay him across his chest and fall asleep with this warm weight was there, but then Chris threw Tom onto the ground like a rag.

Tom didn’t move. He just laid there, his eyes half open. Chris yanked Tom’s head towards his cock. 

„Clean it, whore,“ he growled. After a brief moment of hesitation Tom stuck his tongue out like a kitten and cleaned his cock. When he was finished, he attempted to tuck it back into his briefs but Chris slapped his hands away and threw him to the floor again.

He stood, towering over the naked boy, pressed his boot onto Tom’s face who did not struggle. 

„Don’t you think you should thank me, slut?“ he growled.

Tom closed his eyes, then opened them to look at him. 

„Thank you,“ he said in a strange blank voice.

Chris took his boot off. He squatted beside Tom, pushing his wayward blond curls back from his sweaty face, and told him, „Wether you say it or not, whore ... you are my slut. You’re nothing more. Don’t you forget it.“

Then he went into the bath room, peed while whistling. He washed his cock in the sink. When he entered the room again, the boy was still lying on the floor where he had left him, thighs covered in his spunk. 

Chris left, leaving the door wide open, walked down the wound, big main staircase, and through the entrance hall into the beginning evening. 

He felt more alive than ever before.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the warnings, I added a few. No one is nice here. Tom is a slut and Chris is an asshole. Just so you know, no dogs make their appearance here. Also, it's unbeta-ed, sorry!
> 
> * * *

The next time he saw Tom wasn’t at the Hiddleston’s home.

It was in his high school.

There was a vacant position as a janitor and the Hiddlestons had recommended him to the school’s headmaster. He’d had to share the job with another guy, an elderly veteran, but it’d be permanent and three days a week. Before the interview began, Chris realized he was as good as hired. The school was busy, and they needed someone fast. When the other guy whose name was Osmond or Ormond led him around the school and explained him the areas he was responsible for and his shifts, he saw Tom, surrounded by his friends.

He was sitting with his back to him, looking bored into the sun, while a blond girl was hanging onto him. She seemed sweet and chatty, and Tom flashed her an indulgent smile now and then, adjusting his expensive sunglasses. Two other boys were standing awkwardly around, staring at her breasts and her naked legs, trying to show off by making loud jokes, and, as Chris could clearly see, also trying to look cool by associating themselves with Tom. 

Tom himself barely spoke a word, but one of the boys continued to slap him on the shoulder as if to prove how close they were.

Chris snorted, amused by this show. 

How different Tom looked without a cock in his arse and begging for it, he thought.

Aloof. Someone who knew the world already belonged to him, born and raised with the notion that daddy and mommy’s money would protect him whatever unplesasantness the world could offer.

It was this moment that Chris knew he absolutely despised this boy, hated the guts out of him. He knew he wanted to destroy this smug, perfect face, until nothing was left of it.

„Chris, wanna come in?“ Osmond called from the main entrance of the school.

„Yeah, sorry!“ Chris sauntered towards the older guy.

When he looked back, he saw that Tom had turned around and was looking at him.

Chris grinned at him, then followed Osmond into the school.

 

„What the fuck are you doing here?“ 

Chris looked up from the industrial vacuum cleaner he was trying to repair. Turned out it was harder, than it looked. 

Tom was leaning against the door frame, a backpack slung over his left shoulder, his hands stuck in his pockets. He looked disgusted, as if he had stepped into dog shit.

Chris raised his eyebrows. He looked thoughtfully over Tom—he was wearing a striped Ralph Lauren polo, light trousers, expensive sneakers, that probably cost more than Chris' weekly wage. His aviators were shoved up into his curls. 

Chris' fingers twitched. 

“Hi Tom,” he said amiably, “I'm working here.” He opened the plastic lid, pushed a metal plate out, peering into the insides of the machine. 

He heard Tom coming closer.

For a while he stood watching Chris.

“Someone’s been sick in the courtyard and made a mess in the courtyard,” Tom said finally, sneering, “take care of it, janitor.”

When Chris looked up, he stepped back. He seemed to expect something—his eyes were suddenly dark. His lips ever so slightly parted, swollen. 

And Chris understood—Tom was goading him into sex. It was his way of asking to be fucked.

_Sick little bitch._

Chris smiled pleasantly.

“I’ll clean that up in an instant,” he said. “Anything else?”

Tom still looked at him with this odd expression on his face. His eyes flickered to the open door, and Chris could literally see him calculating. Was he really trying to get fucked here?

Tom looked back at him, and Chris remained on his knees, letting his polite smile never slip from his face.

The boy sneered, crumpling a piece of paper in his hand and throwing it down onto the ground.

“Pathetic,” he said softly, then left.

 

Chris went to the movies this night. He spent nearly fifteen minutes picking a movie, then based his decision on the colors of the poster and the convenient starting time.

In the middle of the film he realized he had no clue what that thing was about—some crap actors wearing costumes and capes, something something in space, loud noises and lots of 3D effects. People around him were laughing a lot—it was a comedy. 

He thought of the way Tom had spoken to him—sure, part of his attitude was his way of goading him into fucking him. Another part however was Tom being himself, the boy who grew up in a household where the sofa cushions matched, were invisible people picked up his dirty laundry, washed his plates, where he was conditioned and groomed to look down on people like Chris.

People like him didn’t even exist in Tom’s world. They were just a homogenous, grey mass.

Tom lived his life as if he deserved it. As if he had worked for all of this—the villa, the car, the sunny afternoons at the pool, the fancy sneakers, when it was in fact the invisibible others who had worked for what he had and enjoyed.

Chris took the 3D glasses off and continued to stare at the screen, not minding the blur. The sudden wave of fury that pushed through him, made him nearly nauseous. 

 

The next time he had to go over the Hiddleston’s house, he was asked to “do something with the tree house”. 

Thankfully Mr. and Mr. Hiddleston were a bit less vague, once Chris began to draw some ideas with a bic ball pen on a napkin, then on a stack of paper sheets, Mr. Hiddleston brought him from his study.

Mr. Hiddleston wanted to—had to—host a party, because a few important dates fell into one week—his anniversary at the uni he was teaching and researching, the publication of his studies and a subsequent nobel prize nomination, and his birthday. The party had been Diane’s idea, and Chris could see that he wasn’t incredibly interested, but he got more and more excited by Chris’ plans.

“Really, you can do that!” he exclaimed a few times, pushing his glasses up his nose. In an odd way he could be charming—sharp, dry, but Chris could immediately see that he could be abrasive and off-standing as well. 

When they were deep in between discussing the second level of the tree house and the party itself, they were briefly drowned out by the thumping bass of Tom’s car as he drove up the driveway. Diane smiled apologetically at Chris, but Mr. Hiddleston didn’t even seem to notice it, picking up one of Chris’ sketches and examining it.

“Brilliant,” he said, pushing his reading glasses up the nose. “Well, if you can give me a cost and time estimate, we’re all good, and I can leave everything in your capable hands.”

The entrance door opened, then slammed shut. 

“Hi, Tom,” said Diane, but Tom ignoring her, went up to his room, taking two steps at once.

Chris calculated the material costs, estimated the rough time, then presented the numbers to the Hiddlestons. He was ready to defend the costs, but Mr. Hiddleston merely glanced at them, and nodded.

“Cheaper than I thought, what do you think, Diane?”

Diane raised her eyebrows. “Looks wonderful to me,” she smiled brightly at him, “when do you want to start?”

For some reason they were not in a hurry to get rid of him, instead began to chit chat—Chris relaxing a bit, leant back in his arm chair, while Mr. Hiddleston, who soon insisted for Chris to call him “Jim”, asked him about his life, and eventually his prison sentence.

It was undoubtedly strange, but also somehow _nice_ to talk about his life to this nice elderly couple, in their spacious, clean living room—mostly upper middle-class, with their discreetly elegant furniture and soft, thick carpet. A few pieces betrayed an adventurous past—a photo of a younger Diane, holding a guitar and James Hiddleston in corduroy jackets and a striped turtle neck. A large painting that looked like someone crazy had vomited colour over the canvas. A photograph of a woman with white hair and thin red lips was printed on an enormous canvas and was simply leaning against the wall.

In this environment nothing could be too dark, too hopeless. Here he could turn his life into a tale of remorse and redemption. 

“But you’re a good man,” Jim said at some point, reaching out and awkwardly patting his arm. 

Chris knew this reaction. It was similar to the “You don’t look like a criminal” statement he often got. He had learned to answer that with a modest smile, then speak about appreciating second choices.

“We could immediately see that,” Jim said, and almost randomly, “the prison system here is a disgrace. It’s dysfunctional and destructive, barbaric really.”

Before Chris knew it, the mild afternoon turned into a grey dusk, and the couple insisted on him staying for dinner. Tom stuck his head out of his room, only to tell his mother, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs, that he had ordered a pizza. Diane sighed a little, but Jim didn’t even notice.

“He shouldn’t eat so much fast food,” Diane said, sitting down.

“Hm, who?” asked Jim.

Chris looked up from his grilled zucchini.

“Tom,” Diane said, “you know the boy who lives on the second floor of our house.” 

She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, hm, yes, of course,” was all Jim had to say.

Chris wondered about this strange puzzled and confused look on Jim’s face whenever someone was mentioning his son or when he had to interact with him.

It occurred to him, that in the long weekends he had spent now at their house, he had never see Jim addressing his son first. Not once.

Later when they walked him to the door, Diane embraced him and Jim shook his hand. 

When Chris look up, he could see Tom standing at the stairs, wearing a white t-shirt and shorts. The look on his face was blank and pensieve. 

Chris thanked the Hiddlestons again, then got into his car. On his way home, he took his phone several time into his hand with the intention to text Tom, but then left it.

 

The day he began working on the tree house, he arrived early enough to see both of the Hiddlestons leaving. Rex greeted him enthusiastically, pushing himself up and placing big paws onto his chest.

“Jim and I will both be away for a few days,” Diane said in passing, “so if there is anything you need from us, let us know.”

“Think, I should be okay,” Chris said, “where are you off to?”

“Oh, I’ll only be visiting my family for two weeks,” Diane said, “and Jim is off to Herts for five days. I may have to stay over the weekend too, but who knows.”

She patted his arm in a motherly gesture

“That sounds nice,” Chris said. Somehow it felt nice to behave a bit like their son. They seemed to like it too, which was odd, considering they had their own son.

“Not really,” Diane said, huffing, “It’s a family crisis of some sort—the details would bore you, but I’m not looking forward to this.”

Almost automatically she hugged him again, before climbing into the car. If there is anything you need, you can always contact my assistant,” Jim pulled out his phone, then texted him a number.

Chris held up his phone, showing him that he had received the contact.

Later he saw Tom leaving to school in his jeep. When he went up to his room, he realized that he had left his door unlocked. Curiously he pushed it open.

Tom’s bed was unmade and the room reeked of sex. His clothes were littered on the floor. Chris picked up a crumpled, blue shirt, the label saying “Givenchy”. It said cotton on the label, but felt smooth, almost like skin. 

He smelled it—it was a pretty smell, sweet, with the light hint of male musk Tom was developing. 

Something on the bed caught Chris’ attention. It was a black dildo, fairly big.

Chris laughed out loud, amused by Tom’s brazen-ness.

For the next six hours he worked on the tree house, only taking a break around 1 o'clock to eat his sandwich, standing at the kitchen counter.

Around three o’clock he watered the plants, started cutting a few hedges, then freed the herb garden in the back yard from weeds.

Before Tom got home, Chris sat down and texted him explicit orders. He got no reply but had not expected any.

By the time Tom got home, he was mowing the lawn. Despite the noise of the lawn mover, he could hear the noisy jeep. Tom swerved into the driveway in a wide circle and came to a halt, right in front of the patch Chris was mowing, tires digging into the freshly mowed lawn. Chunks of soil and grass flew past Chris.

Chris didn’t say anything, just kept on steadily pushing the lawn mower. Tom didn’t get immediately out of his car, but sat back in his seat, adjusting his sun glasses and observed Chris for a while. He was wearing a vintage t-shirt with a faded, blueish print on the front and dark denims. Recently, Chris noticed, Tom’s outfits tended to be on the tighter side—not as loose and XL like his sweaters and Ralph Lauren polos, but t-shirts from soft, sometimes nearly transparent fabric. They always looked a bit vintage, which was why he got away with it—they never looked deliberately see-through but just worn. 

After a while Tom got out, and walked into the house.

Chris finished mowing the lawn, cleaned up his work tools and stored them away, then waited an hour before following him. 

In the golden afternoon light the blue rectangle of the pool was even more intense, offsetting the white and green surrounding.

Tom was naked, as he had ordered, lying sprawled in one of the beach chairs. His skin glowed golden, like his hair, and for a moment Chris was frozen to the spot, fascinated by the perfect beauty of this creature. A movement caught Chris’ eye and he saw that Tom lazily fucked himself with the dildo, Chris had seen this morning on his bed.

A towel was lying beside him, on an air mattress, a bottle of lube. As Chris approached him, Tom spread his legs obscenely wide.

Chris took the scene in for a while, followed Tom’s increasingly urgent moves with his eyes. 

“Down, bitch,” Chris commanded suddenly, and pointed at the air mattress. Tom frowned in confusion, then in annoyance.

Chris grabbed Tom’s curls and pushed him down onto the mattress.

„I may have to teach you a lesson, _slut_ ,“ he said in a mild tone, shaking the head for good measure. Tom reached up, trying to pry his fingers from his hair, but Chris slapped him once, twice in the face. 

„Don’t you ever forget yourself, slut“ he said.

Tom’s face was scrunched up in a grimace of pain. Chris unzipped his trousers with one hand, still gripping the soft blond curls. He was hard, fucking dripping already, and Tom liked it—in the sunlight Chris could clearly see the boy’s eyes darken. With a sneer he forced Tom’s jaw open, then pushed his cock into his mouth.

Tom’s eyes widened comically, as he tried to accommodate Chris’ girth. 

Chris grinned.

That slut was a natural talent at cocksucking. Or maybe he just had lots of practice. Probably both. And the way he began to moan quietly, the way he took him deeper and deeper with every thrust, it was clear how much he loved it.

Maybe punishing Tom by letting him suck cock wasn’t a great punishment after all.

When Tom began to increase his suction and saliva was dribbling down his chin, Chris felt his balls draw up. The temptation to shoot his load straight into that hot wet channel was strong, especially with Tom licking hungrily but he pulled out before he came and shot a thick streak of spunk all over Tom’s face, who squeaked like a little bitch.

„You look so much better with cum on your face,“ Chris told him.

„You fucking—“, Tom hissed, but before he could end what he was going to say, Chris pushed him down and pressed his boot onto his face. 

„You really need some discipline, whore,“ he said. „I ought to train you properly.“

Tom struggled weakly, cursing, but didn’t try to talk back.

Instead he spread his thighs, clearly offering his hole.

As a gesture of submission it was as good any, Chris thought. He spat onto the hole, observing how the glob of saliva ran down the boy’s cleft and over his twitching pucker, then reached down, stroking the sensitive skin. 

He teased the boy by dipping lightly one finger in, and Tom clenched desperately around him, whining.

Then without a word of warning he pushed two of his fingers in, deeply, pushing against the prostate. Tom cried out in bliss.

“Did you clean yourself as I told you to do?” he asked. He pulled his fingers out and looked at them. 

“Looks clean enough,” Chris grunted, then pushed him again lightly with his boot.

Tom writhed, moaning.

“And it seems you prepared yourself,” Chris said, with as much as derision as he could muster. When Tom didn’t reply immediately, Chris kicked him. Tom looked up at him with hatred in his eyes.

Chris admired the exquisite mixture of arrogance, defiance and submission in Tom. 

He smiled indulgently. 

“On your back, slut,” he ordered Tom.

Tom shot him another hateful glance, but obeyed. 

Chris kneeled on the mattress, took hold of Tom’s slender thighs, placing them on his shoulders, then yanked Tom’s body towards himself. Tom actually let out a surprised squeak, confusion in his face. Chris positioned Tom flush to his body, so that his entire back was pressed against Chris’ thighs and his ass was up in the air. Only the shoulders and Tom’s head were still on the mattress.

Chris let go of one of the legs and began to play with Tom’s hole again. Tom’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he clawed the mattress, arching away from Chris.

Then, Chris began to push the thighs down, to fold Tom in half.

“Let’s see _how_ flexible you are,” he told Tom.

He marveled at the ease Tom let himself fold. Apparently all the kids did yoga these days. Tom looked up at him, not looking distressed in the least.

Finally he reached up, wrapped his arms around his thighs and began to push them down himself, until his stiff cock was only a few inches away from his lips.

Chris continued pressing down. Tom closed his eyes in concentration. When his cock touched his lips, he opened them in surprise, as if he hadn’t known it was there.

“Suck it,” Chris commanded, his hands on the back of Tom’s thighs, “come on, you can do it.”

The boy lifted his head up, opened his mouth and Chris pushed harder. Tom’s cock slipped into his mouth and he instantly began sucking it. 

He groaned.

“Let’s see how deep you can take it,” said Chris, still pushing his thighs down. 

Chris could see the boy’s balls twitching, the taint darken. Keeping him in place with one arm, he began fingering Tom’s hole again.

Tom moaned loudly around his cock and sucked harder.

Chris slipped three fingers into Tom, savoring the way the slut’s hole clutched at them.

He pushed them in deeper, looking for his sweet spot, then rubbing them.

Tom clenched, while shrieking in pleasure.

By now Tom was almost deep-throating himself. 

“Stay like this,” Chris said, and let slowly go of Tom’s legs, but Tom had a good hold on them. He didn’t seem to need Chris at all.

Chris fished his phone out and swiped it open with his thumb, then clicked on the camera. He had an excellent view of Tom’s spread ass, his hole being fucked by Chris’ thick fingers, and Tom being nearly choked with his own cock. Pre-cum and saliva were flowing freely over his pretty face. 

He noticed how, the more excited Tom got, dark and puffy his hole got, how pink his taint was, how it looked more raised and a bit swollen, how taut the balls were. 

Tom suckled at his cock with the same dedication and greed he devoted to other cocks, moaning like a whore, pushing his own thighs down rhythmically, fucking his own mouth.

Chris had to deposit some more spit into Tom’s gaping, hungry boy cunt, fuck him harder and deeper with his fingers. He was sure that he had never met anyone before whose prostate was so sensitive—only slightly stroking it made Tom greedily beg and whine for more. He could feel it getting bigger, swell with Tom’s pleasure.

Chris pulled his fingers out, wiped them on Tom’s bum, then finally took up the dildo.

He teased him with it first, stroking his perineum, lightly pushing at the balls. Tom’s dark gold pubic hair was soaked with his own spit. He was too busy sucking to speak but his eyes were pleading with Chris.

Chris slipped the head of the dildo in, but pulled it out again. He loved Tom’s high-pitched shrieks, his moans.

Tom was writhing like an eel, begging with his entire body.

Chris finally had mercy with Tom and slowly inched the dildo in, deeper and deeper until the base pressed and rubbed his sensitive rim.

It was difficult to balance the camera in his hand and at the same time exert pressure onto Tom’s thighs while giving him a proper fucking too, but the sight was definitely worth the muscle ache, Chris thought. 

The way Tom grunted each time Chris thrust the dildo into him, the way his thighs trembled and tensed, the way his face and chest blushed, his little nipples were pebbled and dark, it couldn’t be too long. 

Chris angled the dildo, then pushed it in again, and Tom’s moans grew suddenly louder. He lifted his head higher, fucking his throat deeper with his cock.

He started shaking, his hands clawing at his thighs, ass moving upwards to get more of the dildo, then his movements suddenly became erratic.

Seeing Tom come was the hottest, filthiest thing Chris had ever seen. The shrieks and moans that slut emitted were incredible, his hole grasping and clenching at the dildo. He could actually see the balls pumping, the red prick throbbing and twitching between his open lips.

A bit of spunk seeped out of the corner of his mouth. Chris pressed his head back and Tom’s swollen, wet lips released his cock as he was still spurting. He closed his eyes and stretched out his tongue, as his own cum drenched his whole face. 

“Ungh,” Tom groaned, then opened his mouth wider, so the rest spurt into his mouth. 

He swallowed, licking his lips, licking his softening cock clean. Chris held the dildo in his spasming hole, sliding it in and out lightly now, twisting it.

Slowly Tom came down from his high. He let out a deep sigh and his head lolled to the side. When he stopped finally shaking, and his cock was limp, Chris let go of him. Carefully he eased the dildo out of Tom, causing him to whine. 

The boy rolled onto his side and curled up, his eyes heavy-lidded. His hand moved towards him, his palm open.

Chris stared at it for a while, then walked to the pool where he bent and washed his hands. He remained sitting on his haunches, looking at the reflexes of the sinking sun in the water. 

Behind him the boy stirred, mumbling. 

One day he would pay for this. It was only a matter of time.

Then again, if prison had taught him anything, it was, that there was no justice in this universe. Things happened randomly. Nothing made sense. The world did not exist to make sense. Only to hurt. All it taught you was, that life was an endless succession of pain and disappointment, one defeat after the other. 

Boys like Tom were so perfectly shielded from this world, protected from everything that could harm them, that, maybe in seeking pain, they tried to connect with it—to feel anything, to feel something. 

It was for sure comforting to tell himself that, Chris thought.

He stood up and stretched, then went back to the front of the house, and continued to work on the tree house. After an hour when it got too dark, he stopped, packed up and drove home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up—no Rex yet, but gloryholes, cocks, kind of bukakke, and oh! a bit of watersport. Compared to the other action not much, but definitely there (in the end).
> 
> Tom is still a slut and that's not going to change for this story :p
> 
>  
> 
> Also, apologies again—no beta either!
> 
> * * *

Tom stood outside the shopping mall, in front of the deserted bus station, where Chris had told him to be, playing with his sunglasses and checking his phone, the picture of the typical suburban teenager. He was early.

Chris slowed down his car, then rolled down the window.

„Wanna ride?“

Tom looked at him in his disdainful way, but instead of riling Chris it made him hard. Without an answer Tom shrugged, pocketed his phone, then slowly walked to the passenger side and got into Chris’ beat up Toyota Camry.

„How was school?“ Chris asked, after a while.

Tom looked at him with disbelief on his face, as if he couldn't believe that someone like Chris would dare to address Tom, then laughed and shook his face.

„Fucking unbelievable,“ he mumbled to himself.

Chris gritted his teeth.

„So I’m trying to be nice to my faggot whore and that’s how you thank me?“ he said. When he cast a quick look to his side, he saw that Tom was leaning back against his seat, looking at him with strangely dark, nearly black eyes and half-parted lips. A ghost of his hateful sneer was still lingering but more than that he looked hungry for cock.

„What are you going to do?“ the boy asked. „Force me to swallow your prick?“

He palmed his own cock, then sneered at him again. 

Chris only smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. After a minute, the boy started to fiddle with the radio stations. 

„Don’t touch that,“ Chris snarled.

„You have shitty taste,“ Tom said. „I’m not gonna listen to that crap.“

„I said, hands off,“ he growled. Tom continued to press buttons, until he found a station that played hip hop and cranked the volume up.

Chris reached forward and turned the radio off. When Tom tried to put it back on, he slapped the boy across his face. Tom arched up from the seat.

„Does that turn you on? Slapping me around?“ he asked, spreading his legs, rubbing his cock.

Chris shook his head. Finally he could turn onto the highway, leaving the town behind. He kept on it for a while, another fifteen minutes. The boy’s face got sullen.

„If I wanted to sit in a car, being bored, I’d go with my parents,“ he hissed.

Finally, Chris decided he was far away enough from town, and secondly he had enough of Tom’s ridiculous attitude. He smoothly parked at the side strip.

„Take your clothes off,“ he said, looking at his wheel.

„What?“ Tom asked incredulous.

 _„Take your clothes off,“_ Chris repeated patiently. He cracked his knuckles, then laid his hands onto the steering wheel.

„The fuck I’m—„

Chris slapped Tom across the face, sharper this time, and with amusement he saw Tom’s head being yanked to the side and his blond curls shake.

When Tom turned his head back to look at him, part defiance and part excitement on his features, a red mark was visible on his cheek bone.

He took off his t-shirt. Chris took it and threw it onto the back seat.

Tom sat, unmoving.

Chris sighed. „ _All_ of your clothes.You better be naked in less than a minute or I’m going to send some interesting pics to your parents.“

Tom hissed at him. Chris looked at him, almost alarmed by that sound—he sounded like a snake, a dangerous little animal, all hate, and poison, and ... cornered. 

Then Tom opened his trousers while toeing off his sneakers and pushed them down, together with his underwear, a pair of checkered boxers. His cock sprang out, pink and slim and rock hard. The glans looked slightly wet and sticky and Chris looking at it grinned. Tom’s thatch of pubic hair was slightly darker than his hair on the head but still mostly blond.

„Spread your legs,“ Chris ordered. 

The whole scene was surreal. Cars kept speeding past them, all of them oblivious of the scene playing out on the little strip. Tom spread his legs, cupping his taut, round balls. They were already covered with a light peach fuzz of blond hair. 

Chris lowered the back of Tom’s seat, until he was almost lying on his back. Despite the heat Tom’s usually pale pink nipples were stiff and rock hard. Chris noticed how red and swollen they were, like his lips.

Then Tom brought his legs up, planted one foot against the window frame, the other foot against the air con vent, while sliding down further on the seat. It was the most obscene display Chris had ever seen.

Tom lifted his balls, showed Chris his pink-ish taint, traced it with his fingers while moaning open-mouthed. He hungrily eyed Chris’ cock.

Chris nodded, then started the car.

„What the fuck?“ Tom tried to sit up and cover himself, but Chris wouldn’t let him.   „Stay exactly where you are, slut,“ he growled, and Tom sank slowly back, bracing his feet again. „I want everyone to see what a slut you are.“

He opened the glove compartment, fumbled in it with his right hand while steering with his right hand, then threw a small bottle of lube onto Tom’s chest.

„There’s a towel in the bag, behind you,“ he instructed Tom. Tom twisted around in his seat, temporarily abandoning his position and retrieved the towel, then put the towel under his ass, lifting his legs as high as possible in the car. Chris could see his hole that way. 

„Here’s what’s going to happen,“ he said. „I’m taking you to a place where I can watch you suck and fuck yourself on as many cocks you want and for that I want you prepared. Until I tell you to stop I want you playing with your hole to keep me in the mood. You’re gonna thank me later. On your knees.“

Tom took that in. He seemed to want to say something, but then tilted his head and simply grabbed the lube and uncapped it.

There was a light dusting of curly hair around his hole.

„Disgusting whore,“ Chris said derisively. „Don’t you know that faggot sluts like you should keep their holes clean and shaved?“

Tom parted his lips, moaned, closing his eyes.

„Sorry,“ he whispered. 

Chris nearly slammed his foot on the brakes, he was so surprised to hear that word out of Tom’s mouth, delivered in this meek tone.

When he looked at Tom again, he was slipping two fingers in and out of his hole, circling it with the lube, glancing up at him shyly. He still had his mouth open, wetting his lips with his tongue. All defiance, all aggressiveness was gone without a trace.

„I’m a disgusting whore,“ Tom said, biting his lips and plunging his long fingers into his hole again. Chris had a hard time now to keep his eyes on the road. His own cock was throbbing.

He put on a sneer, but his heart wasn’t much in it. 

„Nngh,“ Tom moaned, arching up. „Can’t wait to have a cock fuck my hole.“ 

Chris gripped the steering wheel, only darting his eyes at Tom who was fucking himself with abandon.

„Don’t come before we get there,“ Chris said. He darted glances at Tom, but didn’t dare to look at him, for fear of coming in his pants or causing a car crash.

He sped up. 

Just because he could, he overtook a truck, but then slowed down enough, so the driver could see a glimpse of Tom. Not that it perturbed Tom—whenever a SUV was driving past them, he arched up, presented himself, although he took care to turn his face away, even donned his sunglasses.

Two or three guys on motorbikes slowed down when they saw Tom. They called out to each other and pointed at Tom, who spread his legs even wider. The guys laughed, shaking their heads, then drove off.

After another thirty minutes or so, Chris pulled into a truck stop. He’d been here a few times before, the first time even before he went to prison, and it had always been a good spot.

Chris parked close to the restroom, but on the backside, where a couple of trees shadowed the building. Most of the guys who came for cruising parked here, and a substantial part of the action took place in the cars. For the braver ones, there was also lots of cruising going on in the small patch of foresty bit behind the restroom.

It was the first time he was here when it was still daylight though, which was an odd experience. There were less trucks here yet. Bemused, Chris watched the different crowd, mothers and kids trek to the bath rooms, teenagers loitering at the shop. He leaned against the door, watching Tom fucking himself. The boy had gotten onto his knees, presenting his hole to Chris. His cock was leaking pre-cum onto the towel and he was furiously rubbing his nipples. 

Chris had a hard time not to jerk himself off and to look as unmoved as possible by Tom’s whorish display.

After another fifteen minutes it was getting a bit darker. Dusk was setting in. When the parking lot in front of the rest station got pretty empty, he ordered Tom to stop.

Obediently Tom pulled his fingers out but remained in position, looking expectantly at Chris. He looked as if he was close to coming, Chris registered with satisfaction.

„Look at you slut,“ he commented, pulling Tom’s cheeks apart, examining the loose, glistening hole. „Hungry for cock, huh?“

Tom whined, raising his ass, pushing it pleadingly up.

„Any cock would do, yeah?“ Chris asked. Tom looked at him, then nodded.

„Let’s see how many cocks you can suck,“ Chris said.

As a way of answering Tom opened his mouth, darted out his tongue and licked his lips.

Chris was tempted to just drag him out and into the rest room by his hair but restrained himself.

„Listen, slut,“ he said. „Once we’ll go inside I’ll whore you out. You’ll be sucking cocks, you’ll fuck any cock I tell you to. Do you understand?“

Tom nodded, the picture of submissive servitude.

„Put on your shorts and your sneakers,“ Chris ordered, and Tom complied. With satisfaction he saw how Tom’s hard cock tented the thin fabric of the shorts. Tom reached into the shorts and adjusted his prick so the waistband kept it snug against his belly. The tip peeked out.

Then Chris got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side and let Tom out, leading him to the rest room with his hand on his neck.  From the corner of his eye he could already see a few guys craning their necks, two getting out of their cars and sauntering towards the rest room.

While the area around the building itself was dimly lit, and two of the three lights were flickering on and off, the entrance itself was relatively bright. Chris forced Tom to stand in the entrance for a few moments, showing him off. From the corner of the eye he saw a few guys in the darkness, standing close to the building, but also some guys standing further away. He pinched Tom’s nipples, then dragged him inside. 

They stood in a badly lit, L-shaped rest room. The urinals were to their left, with the cubicles on their right. Chris went straight to the back—interestingly the last three cubicles were around the corner. The light there was the dimmest. 

There was a metal sink at the back

Since Chris had started using this restroom he’d been convinced that whoever had built it, must have been gay too—the layout was too perfect to be coincidental. Throwing a look behind him, he could see that already a few guys were following them, staring hungrily at Tom. Tom, paranoid to be recognized or seen, shielded his face with his forearm, but was attention-seeking enough to pull his shorts down to reveal his butt crack.

Chris opened the middle stall and closed it behind them, and without lowering his voice much ordered, „Pull down your shorts and show me your hole, slut.“

Tom turned around and displayed his well-lubricated, swollen hole while studying the toilet walls. The one to their left had a relatively small gloryhole. Someone had scrawled „Suck here“ over it with a purple marker and drawn a wobbly arrow. There were a few more or less lewd messages. „Breed me!“ with a phone number underneath, „Let me be your cumdump!“ and a hotmail address. Of course there were drawn images of cocks and balls everywhere. A flyer stuck on the wall behind the flush, an invitation to some sort of sex party, but it took place in NYC and the date was from half a year ago, with an image of Tom of Finland used as the main sujet.

The other glory hole, also still intact, as Chris noted, was larger—at least five inches in diameter, enough to get balls and cock through—mostly used for fucking. He let Tom manoevre his lank body around, but as long as the men in the right cubicle were tall enough, they’d be able to fuck him alright. As soon as Tom was facing the smaller hole, they heard someone enter the cubicle to their left. Chris sat down onto the seat, palming his cock, in expectation of the scene.

The man in the left cubicle tapped his foot. Chris repeated the rhythm of the tapping with a knock, close to the rim of the hole. Soon a half hard cock appeared. Tom closed his eyes and started to lick the glans. He circled it with his tongue, his tip teasing the rim, toying with the frenulum. After a minute of this Tom opened his mouth wide and swallowed the cock. They could both hear the man in the other cubicle groan. Chris began playing with Tom’s nipples, but did not touch his prick.

Tom went faster and faster, moaning quietly. From time to time he opened his eyes and glanced at Chris. While sucking the stranger off, he continued leisurely fingering himself. Finally the door of the other stall opened, and they heard a man knock at the partition. Chris knocked back, and to encourage the other guy, extended a finger through the hole, as an invitation. Tom was in luck; the purple, hard cock pushed through the big opening was as thick as Chris’ and even longer. 

Chris couldn’t help giving it a few admiring strokes, then guided Tom a bit back, and helped that magnificent cock find the hot, wanting hole. He amused himself with teasing Tom a bit, sliding the spongy mushroom head over the wet rim, and enjoyed Tom’s greedy squealing and moaning, the needy wriggling of his ass, then finally showed mercy and pushed it slowly in. Tom’s eyes widened. 

He let out a loud moan, and began to fuck himself on that cock. Simultaneously Chris could hear the two other guys curse and groan as well. Fascinated Chris observed a telltale flush spread over Tom’s face, then wander down his chest and stomach. He was sweating with the exertion, his lean, coltish legs trembling. Chris did not get tired to smooth his hands over his body, stroke him like an excited horse that needed calming. Tom groaned at every touch, writhed into it as if starved. 

„Fucking hell,“ the men from the left cubicle half screamed, half rasped. Someone else, who was standing outside, said in a low tone, „Keep it down, man!“

Chris glanced at Tom’s mouth and saw, that he was practically at the base of the other’s cock. He was deep throating him, careless of the saliva dribbling down his chin, eyes closed in bliss, swallowing in regular intervals. 

There was a strangled cry and the partition rattled. Tom’s eyes suddenly widened, and his throat swallowed convulsively, but apparently not fast enough because spunk seeped out of the corners of his mouth. When the man pulled back his still hard cock, thick strings of cum were connected to the Tom’s tongue and the glans, white fluid flowing down Tom’s face. Tom, lost in his haze, chased the cock with his tongue, trying to lick it clean, but the man had no interest in that and was gone quickly. 

With this distraction gone, Tom concentrated on the furious fucking he received, pushed back and shifted his stance a little to get more inside. There was so much lube and pre-cum that it created a bit of a whitish foam at his rim, being pushed out with the strokes, running down his thighs and his legs. He had to leave one hand at the partition to steady himself but reached down with the other to play wit his nipples. He never stopped looking at Chris though, who managed to look un-flustered and unmoved, despite his throbbing hard on.

„There’s a good slut,“ he whispered and Tom closed his eyes, moaning. „You like that, don’t you? Being fucked and filled, like the _whore_ you are.“

Tom groaned, arched up, relishing a particularly vicious thrust. His own cock looked painfully hard and leaked copious amounts of clear, stringy pre-cum, twitching madly against his belly. Chris had never seen anything like this, and he had fucked a fair share of guys in his life. The man in the right cubicle sped up his fucking. Tom had to steady himself with both hands at the partition. Chris could see that the man now withdrew his cock entirely from Tom’s red hole, then slammed it back in, and judging from the way Tom’s cock leaped and continued to leak, he managed to hit his spot with every stroke. Then finally the man drove in deeply, his balls pressing against Tom’s, and Tom let out a shaky gasp, his eyes scrunched shut. 

„Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop,“ he whispered, rocking back, but the man had already come. He just remained buried in Tom for a few moments, then slowly withdrew. 

Chris bent closer to look at Tom’s hole. The swollen rim didn’t quite manage to close itself entirely after that thick cock. White spunk was pushed out and globs of it ran down his taint down his balls and down his legs. Tom shuddered and whined, begging for more. Without the cock to keep him on his legs he sank to the ground, kneeling in his own pool of pre-cum, and the other fluids that were still seeping out of him. 

Soon enough the door of the left cubicle opened, and the next guy who stuck his cock through the hole didn’t even bother with polite asking. 

In another spot, like a library rest room, or the one in his old town, in a shopping plaza, Chris would have felt unease but he knew that in these kind of highly frequented truck stops there were always one or two guys standing in the door way, keeping watch while waiting for their turn.

The next cock was slimmer and probably younger. It was already rock-hard and pointed upwards. The pubic hair was shorn off and it sported some sort of tribal tattoo on the base. The balls were taut and round, and Tom licked them, then took them in his mouth. When Chris thought it was time to stop teasing, he grabbed Tom by his curls and pushed him onto the shaft. Tom enthusiastically wrapped his lips around the smooth shaft and sucked with vigor. The other guy began to fuck his mouth. At some point Tom stopped using his hands on him, just braced himself against the wall and held his mouth open. Chris thought he could do better, and shoved him closer to the partition, reveling in Tom’s startled squeak, as he was nearly suffocated by that prick. He didn’t put up a struggle though, only closed his eyes again and let his throat be fucked thoroughly. Tears were leaking out of the corners of his eyes. 

A cock was shoved through the right hole. From the shuffling of feet and general noise outside, Chris could hear that the restroom was getting crowded. 

Chris guided Tom up, then pushed him back, so he could feel the cock on his asshole. Almost immediately it sank in, Tom’s hole not offering any resistance any longer, being thoroughly lubricated and fucked open.

„Feels good, slut?“ Chris whispered hoarsely, Tom managed to nod. The other guy started to fuck him violently, and between these two cocks all Tom could do was hanging on, letting them abuse his hole and his face. 

It was good that he was stuffed—otherwise he would have probably shrieked and screamed like a banshee. He seemed to be close coming, chasing his high, but for some reason having hit a a plateau. Maybe that slut needed a dog to knot him to come.

Predictably the guy was finished quicker. With a hissed exhale he emptied himself into Tom’s mouth, and with a mournful sigh, Tom let him go reluctantly.

Shortly after, the man behind him shot a load into Tom’s hole, but withdrew in time to shoot a second spurt over his back.

Chris heard the doors open and then two new cocks appeared almost immediately. 

„That fuck hole is getting sloppy, but it’s still tight,“ he heard someone say, then muffled laughter.

The new guy in the left cabin knocked. „Ready?“ he asked. One of the polite ones.

Chris gripped Tom’s hair. He liked how this simple brutality never failed to elicit some sort of helpless reaction, anguish and shame mixed with lust, how it darkened Tom’s eyes.

„Ready, whore?“ he asked.

 Some of the guys who overheard Chris, chuckled. 

Tom grimaced, massaging his jaw. He licked his lips, then spoke through the hole.

„Just stick it through and let me suck it.“

The guy in the right stall was considerably shorter than the others, and Tom had to move back to get him in. It took a few tries, as he slipped out of the gaping hole, but then they both adjusted and began moving in a rather slow rhythm. 

A cock appeared through the small hole in front of Tom's face, and it was shorter and slimmer as well, than the others before, but very hard and very stiff, and Tom gave it the same loving attention he had given to the other cocks.

He got increasingly bolder, moaning louder, making wet, lewd noises. Chris poured more lube onto Tom asshole, and they both thanked him by moving faster. 

He was getting a bit bored by now, and needed to stretch his legs. Unceremoniously he pushed Tom down onto his knees, heedless of the cock lodged in his ass. His owner cursing, slipping out with a wet, obscene noise. Chris stepped over Tom, then opened the stall door. He turned around and righted Tom again, like a puppet, gripped the purplish, twitching cock and shoved it right back into Tom’s ass who nearly screamed.

Chris petted his head, like a dog. There were four guys leaning at the wall opposite the stall, watching the scene, grinning. When they saw how pretty and young their glory hole slut was, they looked even more eager. One of them palmed his cock openly.

When Chris stepped past them, he could see two older guys in the doorway, who looked like typical truckers, quietly chatting. Another guy, bearded and stout wearing a bomber jacket and a Grateful Dead t-shirt appeared in front of them, out of the darkness, reeling slightly.

„Hey, dude, we’ve got a queue—two toilets are out of order and someone took a dump in one of them, but if you want, there’s another one round the corner—it’s the staff one, but it’s not locked and Jim doesn’t care,“ said one of the guys in the doorway.

The bearded guy peered in. Chris was relatively sure he knew what was going on, but didn’t want to take it up with these two heavy guys.

„Thanks for the heads up,“ the drunk guy mumbled and left on unsteady feet.

The men took up their chat again. It was, kind of predictable, a chat about various cruising spots. The older guy on the left was from Connecticut and knew all about the scene there, while the other was originally from Washington D.C and knew a few cruising spots. They compared crowds, safety, accessibility.

Chris went to his car and got some change, a box of wet wipes. He walked to the vending machines at the other rest room, which was completely empty and a bit eery, but much cleaner, since it was the one for women and kids. He bought a few water bottles and a coke. 

When he got back to the rest room, the guy at the door included Chris in their chat. He hung out with them for a while, listened to their chat, thanked them for watching.

„S’ alright,’ the guy from D.C. said. „We don’t have many raids here. Maybe just once in a year, but it’s good to be careful.“ 

The conversation turned to various police raids of cruising spots, and soon they were chuckling as they exchanged some anecdotes where they were caught or nearly caught. 

Finally when he announced that he’d go back inside, the one from Connecticut said grinning, „Thanks for bringing your friend, man.“   „It’s his pleasure,“ Chris replied, grinning too, then walked inside to see how Tom was faring. He passed the waiting guys, looked at the guys keeping watch and came to a decision.

He opened the door wide, heedless of Tom’s protest, and dragged the naked boy onto his knees and out.

„Wha—?“ 

 His pretty face was streaked with come and his pupils were enormous, almost as if he was high. 

As a way of answering Chris hauled him into the back, further away from the entrance. The light was even dimmer there, with an occasional flicker. He looked at the waiting guys, then jerked his head towards the boy.

„That slut needs a bit more fucking,“ he said roughly. Tom moaned, and presented himself and his gaping hole.

One of the men who had been waiting in front of the stall, palming himself, walked away.

„What the fuck, Mark?“ his friend called after him.

„I’ll be back,“ Mark said.

„Famous last words,“ Chris muttered. 

Tom was on his knees, laughing breathlessly.

 „Use me, fuck me,“ he said in a hoarse, barely recognisable voice. „Come on, do it!’

He beckoned to the other guys, who hesitantly approached him.

Chris studied the group. It consisted of hard-faced, ordinary looking men whose eyes were glittering with lust and greed. Their trousers were tented, and they regarded Tom with a mix of derision and lust, and that seemed to rile up Tom even more, seemed to tease out the submissive slut in him.

They were perfect.

„Woah, what a good little cum slut,“ one of the men said, his voice rough. His eyes darted to Chris, waiting to see if he’d object. When no objection came from Chris and Tom enthusiastically spread his legs in front of the guys, obviously without a care anymore, everyone got bolder.

Two pulled out their cocks, and Tom started sucking them, stroking and pulling them simultaneously. Within a few moments Tom’s deep-throating skills became evident to all of them, and they employed it enthusiastically, fucking his face with vigor.

Mark returned, with a chair in his right hand and a beer in his left. Without explanation he planted it against the metal sink in the back, sat on it and pulled out his cock. 

Tom looked up, curious. 

„Come on, boy,“ Mark said, patting his lap, stroking his cock. „Sit on it. You know you want to.“

Tom glanced at Chris, who nodded his permission, then crawled to Mark, straddled him and sank down on his cock. 

Mark grinned, taking a few sips from his beer.

„You’ve taken quite the fucking today, huh?“ he asked Tom, who was too focused on fucking himself to answer coherently. „You’ve got one sloppy, loose cunt here,“ he cooed. 

Tom grimaced, humiliated, but Mark only continued to grin, watching Tom trying to clench.

„I’m not gonna come in that fucked out cunt of yours,“ he told Tom. Chris who realized where this was going, leaned back at the wall, and suppressed his grin.

„Fuck you,“ Tom mumbled weakly.

„What was that, you fucking whore?“ Mark’s playful tone got sharp. He yanked Tom’s head back, grabbed a fistful of curls. Tom’s face contorted into a painful grimace and he tried to pry Mark’s fingers off.

„Apologize, slut,“ Chris said, amused.

„Sorry,“ Tom murmured, groaning. He let his arms sink, while he resumed frantically moving up and down Mark’s cock. Chris could see his back muscles straining, his buttocks clench and unclench.

„You don’t deserve it but we’ve got something for you,“ Mark said, tipping his chair slightly back, so the back was now firmly lodged against the metal sink.

The new position exposed Tom’s hole to everyone. A steady, thick flow of spunk dribbled out and onto the chair. Chris had to admit that Mark had a point. Tom’s hole was quite big now and open, easily swallowing Mark’s substantial cock. It was pretty obvious that he wasn’t struggling to accommodate him.

Mark’s friend, who had called out to him before, approached the boy now, opening his zip. Then he squatted down a bit, reached out and steadied himself with one arm against the edge of the metal sink. Chris took a large gulp from his water bottle, observing how he pushed against Tom’s hole.

Tom moaned, arching. 

He writhed around, and it was unclear if he tried to move away, or if he was trying to help. Mark’s friend lifted him up, until only the tip of Mark’s cock was inside Tom, then lined himself up and pushed inside, mercilessly.

„Oh, god,“ Tom gasped. His eyes were suddenly wide open, filled with pain. „I ... can’t—I...“

He panted, but nonetheless continued to move with them, spreading his legs further, reaching back and pulling his cheeks apart.

Once both of the men were balls deep in Tom, they laughed, and high-fived each other. Chris imagined that they must have performed that stunt more than once, given the ease with which they seemed to move together. 

„Now that’s better,“ Mark said. He passed his beer to his friend who took a large sip. He slapped Tom, whose eyes were glazed. „Huh? Isn’t that better, you faggot slut?“

Tom didn’t answer, only groaned, writhing between them.

„Oh ...“ he said for the second time. When Mark’s buddy pressed Tom deeper down onto their cocks, Tom spasmed and screamed and his cock twitched.

Chris couldn’t keep still any longer, and took out his cock, stroking it, as slow as possible to not come too early.

The two other guys who had been watching the scene in awe, came closer now and pushed their naked cocks into Tom’s hands. Tom obediently grabbed both of them and began to jerk them off, licking and sucking them as well as he could while being fucked by two cocks at once.

Chris had to bend down and crouch closer to look at Tom’s hole but it was worth it—the way it stretched around the two large cocks sliding in and out, was perfect. The skin was reddish-pink, and thanks to the come that had been already deposited inside him, the fucking was, despite the brutal pace, slicked. The bits of blond hairs around his hole were dark and wet, and made the whole scene even more obscene. Chris started to take a few pictures, mostly of the hole and the two cocks, but he could not resist to get up and stand further away to take one pic of Tom’s ecstasy and pain distorted face, with all the streaks and globs of cum on it, sandwiched between these two brutes.

„Fuck, you’re a nasty piece of cum slut, you know that?“ Mark asked him. It was eery how he could fuck Tom with such vigor and yet remain so calm and mean—it seemed to be exactly what Tom wanted though, who gasped and howled with every thrust.

Mark’s friend was as bad as Mark himself, taunting and abusing Tom, the same way.

„Fucking whore,“ he told Tom. „Little dirty cunt.“

Then he laughed.

„I can feel you gettin real tight each time I tell ya what a filthy slut you are,“ he said. Mark and he laughed as if he had made a hilarious joke. They both sped up their fucking, and Tom let out a loud scream, which he muffled himself with his forearm.

„Come on, slut, make your hole tighter, you’re getting sloppy again“ Mark said, taking another sip form his beer. „Clench, worthless piece of cum slut! Grip my cock.“

Mark slapped Tom’s face, then pinched his nipples, thumbed them roughly and Tom moaned open-mouthed, arching into that touch.

„Please,“ Tom whispered, but looked mortified for a moment.

„Please, what?“ Mark asked immediately. He slapped Tom again.

„Please, don’t stop,“ Tom whispered.

Mark’s friend delivered another punishing thrust and asked, „Do you think you deserve such a good fucking? Two fat cocks in your worthless cunt?“

Tom obediently shook his head. The two men fucking him grinned at each other. That was obviously a game they had played often together. Chris had to squeeze the base of his cock to prevent himself from coming.

„Yeah, right, whore. Faggot cunts like you don’t deserve anything,“ Mark said. When Tom failed to reply to that, he slapped him again, then pushed upwards.

„Say it.“

„Faggot cunts like ... me ...“ Tom whined, out of breath. He was near breaking, and nothing was more arousing than this. „Faggot cunts like me don’t deserve ... anything.“ Tom finally managed to say. He moved, and in the same instant Mark and his friend both hissed.

„Fuck, here we go,“ said Mark. „That made you really tight, huh? That’s what it takes, huh?“

Tom nodded, fucking himself, moving up and down with renewed vigor.

„Fuck this filthy whore,“ he said in a strange voice, Chris had never heard before on him. „Come on, fuck this dirty slut. I'm your fuck hole.“

Letting out a weird, breathless laugh he continued to suck the cocks off he was holding. He began to debase him with relish, called himself a cunt, useless hole, a fuck toy and the more he said, the more excited he became. 

Chris was so hard he felt like exploding. One of the cocks, Tom was sucking and swallowing, erupted, and a thick wad of cum adorned Tom’s wild, distorted face. He opened his mouth wide for the second load, rubbing the wet cock over his face and hair, then showing off the load in his mouth before swallowing it down with relish. Letting go of the softening cock he was able to steady himself at the edge of the metal sink and rocked himself back and forth now, in sheer frenzy.

„Come,“ he begged the other guy, who groaned, fucking Tom’s mouth with abandon. Whatever Tom wanted to say next was inaudible as he was stuffed with cock. The guy took Tom’s head in two hands and began to fuck his face Tom’s eyes were almost comically wide, and the squeals escaping Tom’s mouth, made Mark and his friend laugh. 

Mark took another sip from his beer, then grimaced. „I hate nothing more than lukewarm beer,“ he announced, then emptied the bottle over Tom’s head. The men laughed again, chuckled at Tom’s face dripping with cum and beer. 

Tom screamed into the cock fucking his mouth, but one moment later the man yanked him off and shot his load over Tom’s head as well.

„Open up,“ the man ordered, aiming his cock at Tom’s mouth, and Tom greedily obeyed. The man took out his phone and made a pic with Tom’s mouth filled with spunk, his eyes closed in bliss.

„That’s a good look for you, whore,“ Mark crooned, pinching Tom’s stiff red nipples again. He carelessly flicked them, and in that moment Tom let out a blood curdling scream, lifted himself up, arching and slammed down onto the two cocks, shaking and trembling. 

„Ohgodohgodohgod,“ he panted, and finally his prick shot his load onto Mark’s shirt.

His spasm set off Mark’s and his friends orgasm as well. Mark growled, pulled Tom deeper onto his cock by cruelly twisting Tom’s abused nipples. 

Tom kept spasming and coming, sobbing while grabbing Mark’s shoulders and holding on to them.

Mark’s friend fisted Tom’s curls and yanked him down onto his cock, as well, pushed deeply into him, and Tom whimpered and howled, utterly exhausted now, then finally hung limp between the two brutes.

„What the fuck?“ 

Mark looked down onto his ruined shirt.

„You stupid faggot cunt,“ he exclaimed. Either he was a really good actor, or really angry—it was hard to tell. His friend though was grinning.

„You shouldn’t have done that, cunt,“ he said mockingly to Tom, who was too weak and shaken from his orgasm to react.

It was like a well rehearsed scene between these two, and Chris, curious to what would happen next, leaned back against the wall again. 

Mark’s friend pulled out his cock, which in turn caused Mark’s softening cock to slide out too. A sloppy, squelching sound was audible in the restroom, and cum gushed out of Tom's red, glistening hole. 

Mark pushed Tom onto the filthy restroom floor.

„My best shirt,“ he complained.

Tom crouching at his feet, tried to apologize, even reach up and lick him clean but Mark shoved him away.

„Get away you filthy slut,“ he said.

„Thanks for letting us use your cum dump,“ Mark said to Chris, „but it’s ruined my shirt. Is it ok with you if I punish it?“

„Don’t slap it around too much,“ Chris said nonchalantly. „No marks.“

Tom gave a small sob.

„Sorry,“ he tried to say again, but then Mark grabbed him by his curls, shook his cock over him, and began pissing on him.

„That’s what you’re good for, you worthless fuck piece,“ he said, covering Tom in his piss. Tom did not struggle, although he said, „Please no!“ 

Chris grimaced but was strangely fascinated by Tom’s submissive reaction

Mark's friend yanked Tom’s head, and pissed into his mouth as well, slapping him hard in the wet, glistening face, then let him drop to the wet ground.

„Sorry for the mess, dude.“ He told Chris casually and pushed a twenty dollar bill into his hand.

Chris pocketed it, looking at Tom, who was just lying there, still moaning. Fascinated he observed how Tom reached back and rubbed his hole, as if he wanted more, needed more.

„Fuck, you’re a mess,“ he told Tom, who only snaked out his tongue to lick the cum and piss on his lips. He looked up at Chris, a strange blissful expression on his face.

„Mmmh,“ was all Tom said. He smiled.

„Better clean that up,“ Mark’s friend told him before he slinked out of the restroom as well. One of two guys who’d been keeping watch, was gone, but the guy from Connecticut was still there, jerking off his long, thick cock. Looking at Chris for permission, he approached Tom, and jerked over Tom’s body.

Before he could tuck himself away, Tom managed to rise to his knees and cleaned the cock with his tongue, with the same serene and peaceful expression Chris had seen on him earlier occasionally. 

„Thank you,“ the man smiled in benign way and reached out to pet Tom, but Tom’s expression changed as soon as he saw the man’s smile. Shying away from the touch, he hissed, „Fuck off.“

The man only laughed, then left the rest room.

Chris found that the rusty looking faucet in the metal sink actually worked quite well and dragged Tom up, to clean him under the stream of cold water. It had been a hot day, which made the water lukewarm and bearable.Tom reached up several times and washed his hole out, let the water rinse away the cum on his thighs.

Chris found a bucket underneath the sink, filled it with the water and poured it onto the floor, which washed away the worst of the stuff on the ground, then made the boy put on his shorts and dragged him to the car. 

In the car Tom grabbed his backpack and put on his t-shirt and a sweater on top of it. Suddenly he looked exactly like the clean-cut sub-urbian kid again, except for the darkness of his eyes and the slight tremble of his hands. Chris put on the radio, and Tom didn’t change it. He just sat there silently, staring into the night,smiling. His features were relaxed and slack, and after a few minutes he was fast asleep, snoring lightly like a cat. Chris turned down the music from the radio and covered him with his jacket. The boy mumbled, snuggled into the seat and pulled the jacket tighter around himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, when will this end? Why is there suddenly plot?
> 
> I have no idea, all I can say is, that I'm sorry. I'm not really, really sorry, otherwise I wouldn't gleefully vomit words onto the screen and update this, but well yeah.
> 
> Just a heads up: New warnings: cross-dressing, forced feminization (?), daddy kink, infantile Tom, silly porn talk, self-fuck, auto-penetration whatever it's called, obviously you should check your disbelief at the door before reading this.

Over the weekend Tom went away with friends and his girlfriend.

Chris did wonder if she knew that Tom was into being fucked by strangers in public toilets, dogs and pissed on, but it was none of his business anyway. He had to leave it to Tom though—if he wasn’t into her, he was an excellent actor.

The day they left Chris had already been at the villa by five thirty, just sawing some wood planks, getting things ready for later, because he had to work at the school for four hours. Rex, as excited as a puppy by all the commotion, jumped around him, and tried to persuade him to play with him.

One after the other arrived, dropped off by the parents in their shiny SUVs and they had breakfast at the pool. The girlfriend was in a bikini, and Tom made a big show of fondling her, slapping her bum and throwing lewd glances at her. The other boys grinned. 

They went for a swim, then Tom went up to his room to get his stuff.

When Chris was carrying out tools to the tree house, he saw that Tom's window was open, and Tom looked down at him with a blank expression. Rex was with him, and Tom was absentmindedly petting his head.

Chris only grinned and waved, then went back to the tool shed.

Half an hour later he saw Tom’s jeep backing out of the drive way, the girlfriend sitting in the back, and Tom's friend sitting in the front. Everyone except Tom waved goodbye to him. Rex was sitting in the doorway like a statue, only his enormous ears twitching.

Chris spent the entire weekend hammering, drilling and building. He went into Tom’s room only once, maybe in the vague assumption (or hope) Tom had left him another provocative item (which he hadn't).

He was finished at the school around three o’clock, then couldn’t resist to drive by at the Hiddleston’s villa to continue working at the tree house—if it’d been just some sort of wonky structure before, it started to look great now, a building with three sturdy levels, all three levels stabilized and fully accessible. It still needed a proper railing, not the crickety thing that was in place now and was positively dangerous but that wouldn’t take too long.

As he started the drilling he had to admit to himself he hurried a little, so he could spend more time with Tom during the week, before the parents came back. During the next days he only finished up when it became too dark to work—the electricity on the tree house didn’t work yet—and even spent one night there, sleeping in Tom’s bed with Rex curled up to him. It was strange to fall asleep surrounded by Tom’s boy-smell, and he woke up with a hard-on at the break of dawn.

He nearly jerked himself on, but then left it—instead got up and took a quick shower, then continued to work in the garden, cut some planks, then drove to the hardware store to get some paint. In the afternoon he made a drive to the next bigger city, where he did a bit more shopping, mainly for Tom. 

In the evening Tom came back. He had obviously dropped everyone else off, because he was alone. When he parked the jeep and got out, it occurred to Chris how bored he looked when no one was looking at him. How utterly uninvolved and disconnected.

Rex bounded out of the house to greet him, and Tom bent down and stroke the dog.

Chris finished and tidied up, packed his tools into his car and drove off, without even greeting Tom. If he said hello to Tom, acknowledged his presence, there would be this question in the air—if they would fuck tonight, but Chris had something else in mind.

Later at home, he carefully unwrapped the items he had bought for Toma few days ago, laid them out on the bed. 

They were perfect. 

He put them back into the shopping bag, then texted Tom instructions for the next day. As usual he didn’t get any reply.

In the morning he went over to the villa and could see Tom wolfing down his breakfast in the living room, standing at the window. When Chris got out of the car, Tom walked to his car.

When he passed Chris, he said, “You were in my room.”

Chris had no interest in denying it and only grinned.

Tom’s stare was icy.

“Did you jerk yourself of, you filthy pervert?” he hissed, “rummage around in my stuff? Find anything interesting?”

Chris didn’t stop grinning, but he grabbed Tom’s neck and pressed him onto the hood of his car. 

“Sluts like you should only open their mouths to suck cock,” he said amiably, then pushed Tom away. Tom grabbed him—tried to pull him back, a move that surprised Chris. He casually shrugged of Tom’s touch, although he was painfully hard, and sauntered into the house. A moment later he saw Tom driving off.

Until noon he busied himself in the garden, before it got too hot, had a quick lunch in the kitchen, then headed home. This time he withstood the urge to walk up into Tom's room.

Around two o’clock Chris texted Tom a meeting point.

They met twenty minutes later, at the same shopping mall Chris had picked him before. As usual Tom looked bored, playing a game on his phone. When he saw Chris’ car he got in wordlessly. 

Chris pushed a nondescript shopping bag into his lap. When Tom opened it and examined the content, he let out a laugh.

“You’re not serious,” he said.

“Put them on now,” Chris said mildly, keeping his eyes on the road.

Tom threw him another glance.

“Fuck that,” he said, and threw the bag back into Chris’ lap.

Chris rolled his eyes, but parked on a side-strip. He swiftly grabbed Tom, then slapped him in the face.

“You’ll never learn, hm,” he said, in the same mild-mannered, almost bored tone, “you do as I say or I’ll show the entire school what you’re up to in your free time. I have an impressive collection of videos by now.”

Tom seemed to love this game. Chris could see that he was getting hard. 

“Please,” Tom whispered, biting his lower lip, “I .. I’m sorry. I’ll do what you say. Just please don’t ...”

“I’m sure your friends like to see how you love being pissed on,” Chris said–not so much as a threat, but to see how Tom’s eyes darkened and his pink lips parted as if he wanted to drink in every word.

The idea of being publicly humiliated seemed to be one of Tom’s biggest fears—and kinks. Chris reached under Tom’s polo and rubbed his nipples, and Tom immediately let his head fall back and closed his eyes, spreading his legs.

“There’s a good girl,” Chris said sweetly, then started the car again. He threw the bag into Tom’s lap.

“Put them on,” he said in a harsh tone, “and don’t talk back to me. I’m not in a forgiving mood.”

Tom didn't protest any further, but made a show of undressing himself. 

He’d make a great cam whore, Chris thought. Finally, when they were already heading out of town, Tom was naked, his legs spread and fingering himself. He liked that—being naked in Chris’ car, while driving, heedless of who might see him. 

He pulled the pink panties out of the bag, then put them on, taking time to adjust his hard on so the waistband held it in place. He took pleasure in torturing Chris by turning around in his seat, kneeling on it, and pushing his ass out, rubbing his hole through the lace.

Then he put on the bra, made of the same obscenely pink lace. It barely covered his chest, and rubbed nicely against his nipples, which turned dark and pebbled. Tom seemed to like that too, starting to writhe around.

Tom slipped on the transparent, white blouse, (which was a tad too big for him) and the pleated school girl skirt, which was deliberately too short. 

He had shaved his legs as Chris had told him to, except for a little golden patch on the underside of Tom’s left calf which he had forgotten or overlooked (Chris would not tell Tom about it—the boy seemed so proud of his smooth legs).

“Like that?” he asked, knotting the blouse so that his mid-riff was bare. Finally he put on the white fishnet stay ups. The real test came with the shoes. Chris had bought those online, estimating Tom’s shoe size—they were not too high, the pink heels about two inches high and easy to put on—just slip ons with a clear front.

Yeah, they were pretty trashy. Chris had taken care that every item he had gotten Tom looked slutty—he looked like a street whore. 

Miraculously the shoes fit Tom exactly–he had narrow slender feet, with long bony toes, that looked delicious in the pink shoes. Even Tom seemed to admire himself raising a leg in the crammed car, looking at the heels.

“Have you ever put on make-up?” Chris asked him, parking in the back of a store, close to the rest room. 

Tom shook his head.

Chris pulled out a make-up kit he had bought at the drugstore a few days ago–one of these kits that had everything in them. He had to study it, to turn it around in his hands, to see which of the gaudy coloured rectangles was for the eyes. 

He found a powder blue eyeshadow he put onto Tom’s eye lids. Then he dipped his finger into an oily, slick pot of blazing pink and applied it onto Tom's lips. They felt soft under his calloused finger tips. He smeared the colour around, deliberately putting on more than necessary. 

Within a minute Tom’s trailer whore look was complete. Not even his parents would recognise their son, he thought viciously, tarted up like a bimbo slut.

Tom looked at himself in the back mirror and laughed. He snatched the make-up kit out of Chris' clumsy hands, then put some more stuff on, and suddenly looked ... utterly devastating.

Chris stared, couldn't stop staring. Tom tilted his head, snaked his tongue out and winked at him.

Chris shook himself out of his daze, rubbed Tom’s cock through the fabric of the skirt, so it was fully hard again, then ordered him to get out. The skirt barely covered his ass cheeks. In fact that little crease between buttock and thigh was visible, and a tiny bit of the panties Tom was wearing. 

Although the heels weren’t high at all, he had troubles walking in them and tottered around, his knees slightly bent. He looked a bit like a baby giraffe.

Chris laid a hand onto Tom’s ass and led him to the store. Tom resisted when he realized they weren’t going into the rest room, but into the actual store. Chris grabbed his wrist and didn’t let him move away.

It was a pet supplies store. 

The owner or shop assistant was talking to his mates at the counter and barely looked up. The aisles were conveniently narrow and long—there were cameras of course (most likely fake) and mirrors in the corners of the store, but apart from that it seemed pretty unmonitored. A mum with her two kids was milling around, putting cans of dog food into her shopping cart. The kids ran up and down the aisles until they found a corner which sold cute toys for pets.

Chris could see the exact moment when Tom realized why they were here. Chris pulled him into the aisle with the leashes and the collars, and saw Tom’s cheeks flush red, his eyes sparkle. 

He waited until the mum was at the counter paying for her purchase, and only after the door had closed behind them, Chris took various dog collars and tried them on Tom. 

Just for fun he put on a bright pink one onto Tom’s long thin neck, made from shiny patent leather. It suited him, especially with Tom’s bimbo make-up, the smeared pink lipstick and his bouncy, blond curls. Chris had to grin at Tom’s humiliated, furious look and amused himself by pinching Tom’s nipples through the transparent blouse.

Tom gasped, but said nothing.

Finally Chris settled onto a heavy, dark leather collar, with a silver D-ring in the front and a similar leather leash, that had also a heavy silver chain.

When he brought the items to the counter, the men there finally looked up and silently took Tom’s appearance in. Chris smirked, patting Tom on the head, then squeezed his ass.

Just to annoy Tom, he took extras long with paying and shopping. 

The guy processing his card, stole furtive glances at Tom—Chris couldn’t tell if he was aroused or disgusted. Maybe a mix of both. Tom, while first hesitant and sullen, seemed to warm up to his act with every moment going by—he started to twirl locks of his hair around his little finger, licking his lips, staring at the mens' crotches and smirking.

The cashier tore the receipt off the Eftpos machine and put it into the bag. Tom adjusted his bra straps, then put his hand onto Chris' waist and let it linger there.

“Can’t wait until you put this on me,” he said suddenly.

The cashier and his mates just stared. Chris nearly laughed, then put his hand onto Tom’s bottom again, massaging it.

“Let’s put it on you then,” he said, and together they walked out, Tom slightly leaning on Chris.

Just before the door closed behind them, he heard one of them say, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Chris put the collar around Tom’s neck in the car, then attached the leash. By then Tom was so aroused, he was panting, spreading his legs. Chris ran his hand over the stockings, squeezed the toes in the heels.

“Now you’re my proper bitch,” he said, satisfied.

He had to drive around a while until he found the next cruising spot that wasn’t too close to Tom’s home town—it wouldn’t do, to risk being seen by someone they knew.

The park they found was perfect—they waited in the car until the afternoon turned into dusk and the mums and kids had left the park. Again, Chris had to lead Tom—this time he held the leash in his right hand, but also put a steadying hand onto Tom’s left hip, especially when the path turned gravelly. They reached a secluded part with a wooden table and a few benches around it—three or four guys were standing around, one of them fondling another guy, grabbing his cock and kissing him.

One guy was drinking from a brown paper bag, listening to some rap music spilling out of his earphones. 

It was a different crowd than in the restroom—much smaller, and the guys were younger. When they saw Tom, they pushed each other, pointed at him, but did not approach him. 

As it grew darker with every minute, the only light source remained a faint street light from the concrete path.

Tom, now fully relishing his role, leaned against the wooden table, knees on the bench, pushing up his skirt and the laced panties aside and and started fingering himself, looking beseechingly at Chris—in an adoring, sweet way he had never done before.

He licked his lips, parting them temptingly.

Chris positioned himself behind him, lifting the skirt up. Two guys looked on, the other two started screwing, both of them looking a bit out of it–probably high.

Tom looked incredible. The short skirt framing his ass, made the buttocks look plumper, rounder. His hole, despite being stretched by two cocks only a few days ago, was a delicate shade of pink. Chris caressed it with his finger.

The boy whined, pushing his ass up.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” said Chris, his voice rougher than intended, “now wanna be a good little slut for me?”

“Yes, daddy,” Tom panted.

Chris massaged Tom’s warm buttocks with his hand, while pushing in deeper, stroking Tom inside, to win some time, then went with it.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “such a good little whore.”

Then he went down onto his knees, and started licking his hole. 

“Oh,” Tom gasped, his voice a little higher than usual.

He flicked the tip of the tongue in a rapid, fluttering motion against the hole and felt Tom trembling. 

(The way Tom’s thighs could shake was unique to Tom. Tom did not deliberately shake—Chris felt exactly how needy and tense Tom was.)

“Oh, daddy!” he gasped, “oh, yes, please.”

He shifted his stance, to spread his legs further, and nearly slipped in his heels. Somehow this made Chris nearly come—Tom’s feet in the ridiculous heels looked delicious, the pink, long toes covered by the shiny plastic, the tension in the calves, the slightly bent knees, the pale, quivering thighs.

“Spread your legs for daddy,” he mumbled, and Tom let out another moan.

Chris pushed his tongue into Tom’s hole now, and Tom squealed. From the corner of his eye he saw the guys begin to jerk themselves off.

“Such a whorish little cunt,” Chris said, licking in and out of Tom’s grasping hole, then pushing his finger back in. Tom writhed and pushed back.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” he cried, “Please, I’ll be a good slut, I’ll be your little girl.”

Chris got up and unzipped his denims, pulling out his cock. He turned Tom around, using the leash, and ordered him to suck it. 

Tom sank to his knees and enthusiastically started licking while Chris began praising his talented mouth and dedication to please daddy.

When his cock was wet enough, he pulled Tom off again. It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen—Tom’s face flushed, the painted whore lips swollen, his eyes glittering with want and craving.

“You need daddy’s cock to feel good, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Tom cried out, still on his knees, shifting.

It occurred to Chris how he once had imagined Tom like this—publicly humiliated, kneeling, begging, and now the scene played out, exactly _how_ he had pictured it but he didn’t feel any of the things he had thought then he would feel.

What had he imagined? It was hard to have clear thoughts, when looking at Tom’s wanton face. 

Was it satisfaction, vindication? What was it, what he had expected? 

And what was it he was feeling now? 

“Daddy,” Tom whispered softly, then licked the tip of his cock, shyly glancing up at him. 

“My dirty little slut,” Chris said.

“Yes,” Tom agreed, then swallowed his cock again, smiling now. 

As if he was happy. Was he happy?

“Daddy, look at me,” Tom implored him, and Chris, mechanically reached out and petted Tom’s soft curls.

Tom closed his eyes in bliss, taking his cock so deep, Chris nearly came. Tom’s lips were firmly wrapped around the base of his cock, nose pressed into his pubic hair. 

“You make daddy feel so good, my little whore,” Chris crooned softly.

Tom smiled around his cock. He looked serene.

Chris pulled him off again, this time more gentle, then jerked himself off over Tom's face. Tom opened his mouth wide as soon as the first hot spurt hit him. One of the guys jerking off moaned, and Tom crawled over to him, so he could come on his face too.

Tom tugged at Chris, expecting a round of fucking, but Chris only grinned and pulled him up, then sat him on the table.

He instructed Tom to play with his hole and stretch it, then walked back to the car. The two guys who had been screwing the entire time, managed to inch a bit closer to see Tom in action.

Chris opened the trunk, pulled out the blanket and a faded beach towel and walked back to the bench. 

One of the guys was holding Tom while he sucked his cock. Just when Chris was back at the table, the guy groaned and pushed his cock into Tom's face. Tom moaned, then Chris heard him swallowing.

Tom looked at him, streaks of cum still on his face.

"Hi, daddy," he said.

Chris spread the blanket and the towel over the table, making sure Tom was comfortable.

Tom looked at him quizzically. Chris put his hands onto Tom's thighs, then pulled abruptly so that Tom landed on his back, onto the blanket.

Tom squeaked, but also laughed. 

"Daddy!" he cried out, and Chris couldn't help but smile. 

"We're going to have some fun," Chris said in a lighthearted tone.

Tom threw his legs up and spread them wide, looking at him mischievously.

"Are we going to play a game, daddy?" he asked. He lifted a shoulder and tilted his head.

Chris grinned. 

"Yes, my little slut," he murmured, "you're gonna like it."

"Mmmmh," said Tom and kicked the air with his heeled feet.

When Chris reached for his panties, Tom lifted his hips and helped him. 

"Did you do as I told you?" Chris asked, and Tom presented his slightly dilated hole.

Chris caressed Tom's rose lips with his fingers and Tom stuck his tongue out and licked them. When they were wet enough, Chris inserted them into Tom's hole. It opened to him readily.

"Very good," Chris praised Tom.

He knelt onto the bench, spreading Tom's legs further apart.

"Now I need you to stay relaxed, okay?" he told Tom, who nodded obediently. 

Chris took Tom's half hard cock into his hand, careful not to rub it, not to stimulate it. He applied spit onto it, but did not suck it. With the other hand he took Tom's balls. Tom followed his movements with large eyes. 

The other guys craned their necks curiously.

"Don't get too excited, okay?" Chris said in a warning tone. 

He began to push Tom's balls to the side.

Tom frowned a little.

"Does it hurt, baby?"

Tom shook his head. "'S alright, daddy," he whispered. He leaned back on his elbow and actually began to suck on his thumb.

"You little vixen," Chris said. He smiled at Tom, continuing to push. Tom's cock deflated a bit, went nearly soft, what with Chris tugging and pushing at his balls.

Then he grabbed Tom's cock properly and pulled it down. 

"Nnngh," said Tom, brows drawn together in discomfort.

"You'll feel good in a moment," Chris reassured him

He pressed Tom's slim, long cock further down, pressed it against his perineum, and then rubbed the head against Tom's hole.

"Oh!" Tom's head fell back.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" he gasped.

"Told you, it'll feel good," Chris said, then pushed the head in.

Tom let out a loud moan.

"Fucking hell," one of the guys behind him said, "that's ... cool, man.'

"Oh god," Tom said, rocking back and forth, biting his lower lip.

"How does it feel, my little whore?" Chris asked.

Tom didn't seem to be able to answer—he gasped, and moaned, now lying back on the table, his legs in the air. One of the shoes was dangling off his toes.

Chris managed to push in a bit more of Tom's cock into his hole. Fascinated he observed how Tom spasmed around himself, and trembled.

"So good, daddy," he moaned.

Chris kept his hand pressed onto Tom's shaft, so it wouldn't fill with blood, and moved it back and forth, now truly fucking Tom with his own cock.

He felt it harden a bit more under his palm, but when he checked to see if it was slipping out, he found that Tom's hole had literally clamped down around the head. 

Tom threw his head from one side to the other. The guy who had jerked off into Tom's mouth before, played with Tom's nipples. Tom arched up.

"You dirty little whore," Chris egged Tom on, who moaned even louder, "look at you, fucking yourself in front of all these guys,"

"Oh ... I'm coming," Tom cried out, "Daddy, I'm coming."

Tom thrashed around frantically, then his entire upper body lifted itself up from the table, his back taut as a bow string. Chris felt Tom's cock pulse, saw the balls pumping, and a moment later, the hole around the cock spasmed.

Tom's orgasm seemed to last forever. Whenever Chris thought Tom was done, another shiver went through his body. His skin was glistening with sweat. Only after an eternity he seemed to calm down, the tension finally leaving his body, 

He was lying there, and in the light of the street lamp looked nearly angelic. Slowly Chris let go of Tom's cock, and it slipped out of Tom's hole. Whitish cum trickled out.

Following a sudden inspiration, Chris bent down and began licking it up, lapping at the hole. Tom moaned.

After a while Chris looked up to see that Tom seemed to have fallen asleep. He was lying sprawled across the entire table. One shoe had fallen off onto the ground, and Chris had to switch on his phone to find it. 

"Fuck," one of the guys said, "Cops."

A surge of adrenaline went through Chris. He shook Tom. "We have to get out of here!"

"Wha—?" Tom sat up groggily, wiping his eyes. Chris could hear a car pull up, car doors slamming.

There was no time, and Tom in his heels would slow him down. He gathered the blanket with Tom in it up, and carried him back to the car, as fast as he could. Tom for all his lankiness, was heavy and Chris could literally feel that he was pulling a muscle, but it couldn't be helped.

A quick glance behind his shoulder told him, that the guys had all left.

He arrived at his car, put Tom down, leaned him against the car, then opened the door and shoved Tom in.

Just when he put the key into the ignition, he could see the silhouettes of a few cops, searching the area with their flashlights.

One of them saw the car, and called out something, waving with the light.

"Fuck," Tom panicked, "hurry, I can't be arrested, mum will kill me!"

Chris slammed his foot on the gas pedal and reversed out of the park, then swerved nearly into a light pole and barely made it onto the road. Tom craned his neck watching the park disappear in the distance.

"Fuck," he said again, "that was close."

Chris kept his eyes on the road, after throwing one glance at the back mirror, slightly paranoid of being followed—which of course he wasn't. Cops were a bunch of homophobes, but they were also a _lazy_ bunch of homophobes.

"Mum will kill me," he repeated to Tom incredulously, "that's what you're worried about?"

"You don't want to see my mum when she's pissed off, believe me," said Tom.

"I'll take your word for it," Chris said.

Tom changed in the car, putting everything back into the shopping bag.

After half an hour they reached the villa, and Chris let Tom out. 

He noticed that he had not taken his collar off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's me again, your friendly neighbourhood pervert who has poor Tom sodomised by dogs, strangers in a toilet AND by himsell, in between being slapped around by Chris and wearing lace knickers. All good! 
> 
> What do we have tonight? Rex, Tom's beloved shepherd dog and some revelations (at least I hope they are).
> 
> Once more: There will be bestiality, so if this is not for you, don't read. I will, if necessary re-iterate whatever happens in this chapter for the next chapter, so you won't miss plot (if you are even here for the plot hahaha)
> 
> * * *

The day Mr. Hiddleston was due to return, Chris got his proof that at least the first level of the tree-house, a space of perhaps 10m2, was absolutely solid. It withstood half an hour of vigorous, enthusiastic fucking and 25 stones and a few extra pounds of bouncing around.

Mostly Tom kept to the script, they've been adhering to so far—Chris verbally abusing and insulting Tom, Tom lashing out now and then only to act meek and coy, when Chris pulled out his "blackmail" card. By now it was perfectly clear, that Chris would not make good on his threats unless he wished to return to prison himself as he was sexually involved with someone who was still, technically a minor. (Tom's birthday was due in a week though).

By now it was a game they both enjoyed. 

Today though was the first time, Tom actively stepped out of the game when Chris pulled out his cock.

"I need more," he complained, stretching his back and cracking his spine. He turned around on his fours and, like a dog, rubbed his head onto Chris' chest.

Dutifully Chris shoved a couple of fingers into Tom's ass, but Tom moved away, irritated.

"Rex," he called down then whistled.

The dog came running, tongue lolling, barking. He ran merrily around the base of the tree house, put his paws onto the stairs then climbed up. Before he could be persuaded to pay attention to Tom though, he sniffed out the entire wooden floor of the tree house, then greeted Chris. 

Finally Tom managed to pull him towards himself. Rex detected the collar Tom was wearing and licked and sniffed it, looking questioningly at Tom, then at Chris. He let out a bark.

"That's right," Chris encouraged Rex, "here's your own little slut."

Tom inhaled sharply, his cheeks flushing. 

With Tom, arousal was a fascinating thing. His cock would eventually harden, but the first thing to react were his nipples—they darkened and hardened into little peaks. They got so sensitive, Chris sometimes thought, Tom could just come from him playing with them. 

Then he would raise his ass, and offer it, like a bitch in heat. When Chris pried his cheeks apart, his hole would twitch so deliciously, begging in its own eloquent, puckered way for cock. 

Rex barked a few times, sniffing Tom, finally giving Tom's hole a lick. Tom moaned.

He shifted on his knees, spread them, then laid his face onto the ground. Rex seemed indecisive, a bit confused, but then he jumped up and over Tom's torso, embraced him with his paws and his cock unsheathed.

Tom bit his lower lip, arched into Rex.

"Oh, fuck, yes."

Rex growled–he was stabbing with his cock at Tom's hole. Tom reached behind him, then took the cock and inserted it into his hole. The dog froze momentarily, when Tom touched him, but as soon as he felt Tom's tight channel, he began to fuck him so hard, Tom was pressed to the ground, and pushed forwards on the floor.

Tom would do good to hide his knees tomorrow.

Rex nipped at his neck, grabbed him around the waist and pushed in harder. He was growling now.

Tom drank in gulps of air, emitted sobbing moans.

"You like that, my little cum slut?" Chris knelt in front of Tom. There was something savagely beautiful about the smooth-skinned boy being embraced by Rex, would in this moment appeared like a furry beast, monstrous, rather than the sweet, good natured pet.

"Yes," breathed Tom.

The dog was close—his thrusts sped up, then he changed his angle slightly. Suddenly Tom gasped, then cried out.

"Yes, please," he cried out, "oh fuck yes."

He laid his hands onto Chris thighs, then pulled the denims down to suck at Chris' cock.

Chris didn't know if he could get really hard again, but Tom's sucking and tonguing felt nice. Besides Tom needed something to stuff his mouth—the way he screamed he alert the neighbours. At least now his screams were muffled.

With a loud growl Rex shoved at Tom, then kept still. Tom shrieked, clawing at Chris' thighs and without even looking Chris knew, that Tom was knotted.

Rex stopped fucking—cum trickled out of Tom's reddened hole. Tom lay onto Chris' thighs, panting open-mouthed, an expression of despair and pain but mostly lust in his eyes. 

"Fucking ... hurts," he sobbed.

Chris petted Tom. 

"Oh god," Tom gasped, "he's fucking big."

Chris hummed, holding Tom through it.

Tom let out a breathless laugh which turned into a moan, when Rex lifted a leg, pulled it over Tom and turned around so he was ass to ass with Tom.

He had stopped moving, just stood there patiently waiting for his knot to deflate. Now, Tom was the one frantically moving, fucking himself on that knot.

Chris took hold of the collar, tugged at it, then yanked Tom's head up. Tom's breathing intensified.

"Yes, yes," he panted, "Like this, exactly ... like this."

Chris could not help himself, reached out and touched Tom's naked back.

A sunbeam fell through the wooden slates onto his golden curls, onto his spine.

The dog moved in the shadows, growling softly.

Tom's cock began to spurt thin, translucent cum, and he began to shake uncontrollably. He held onto Chris like somebody who was drowning, looking at him with his enormous, blue eyes.

After his powerful orgasm he lay there for quite a while, trembling and gasping, and Chris took care that the dog didn't pull the knot out of Tom too soon. It took a while until Rex' knot was deflated enough. He cleaned up the dog cum with his t-shirt, then stuffed it between Tom's legs.

Tom crawled into the sun, where he curled up and fell asleep. Rex licked his cock clean, then went to Tom and sniffed him again, whining.

After a while Chris climbed down and continued to work in the garden. Later, when he passed the tree house again, he saw that Tom (and Rex) had left. 

Around nine o'clock Chris finished cleaning up and drove home. In the shower he tried to think of new stuff to try out with Tom. There was literally nothing the kid wouldn't do. When there were cocks and fucking involved he would be pretty much up for it.

Maybe find more guys with dogs, Chris thought–have more than one dog knot him, make him a bitch for a whole pack, for a whole day, locking him into a cage, naked with his collar. 

Tom would absolutely love this. It would be great birthday present for him.

The idea aroused Chris so much, he jerked himself off within a minute. Afterwards he slipped into bed, smiling, thinking of logistics.

 

Tom called him at two o'clock in the morning.

It was his own fault—he should have silenced his phone, before going to bed but he actually never did. 

The first time it rang through and went to voice mail. Then, when Tom called again, Chris picked up, half asleep.

"Mr. Hiddleston?" he said.

There was a slight pause.

"No, it's me, Tom."

Chris rubbed his eyes, looking at the alarm on his night stand.

"What's the matter? Something wrong?"

"I ... have a problem. Can you come to 23 Hayfield Street?" Tom sounded panicked.

"What about your parents?"

"I can't involve them. Please. This is urgent," Tom pleaded.

Chris knew he should simply hang up, but while talking to Tom he was already looking for his jeans and slipping into them, snatching a t-shirt from his arm chair. 

"Hurry! Come right away," Tom's voice was urgent, but also authoritative in a way that annoyed Chris to no end. The way customers spoke to cab drivers—there it was, that sense of entitlement.

(He'd make him pay for that.)

Within five minutes he turned into Hayfield Street, and saw Tom sitting on the curb. Behind him was a human-shaped lump, curled on the ground. Further away blueish light and some crappy house music spilled out of a club. 

A gaggle of boys, dressed exactly like Tom, in expensive polos, shirts and designer denims was standing around, hitting drunkenly on group of girls who wore skimpy dresses, that probably cost more than his car.

Tom had his head in his hands. When he saw Chris' car, he got up, and hauled the human-shaped lump up as well, which turned out to be an unconscious girl. Chris came to a halt, and in the light of the spotlights he saw that it was Tom's girlfriend.

Chris groaned.

He could not afford to be involved in anything with drugs, alcohol and minors.

"What took you so long?" Tom yanked the door open, then tried to stuff in his girl friend into the back seat.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" Chris asked, incredulous, "what the fuck is this? Is this your dead girlfriend's body? Why are you putting her into my car?"

"She's not dead, she OD'ed," Tom said. "Her name's Susan, by the way."

"What? Oh, just great!" Chris threw his arms up, "get her out of my car, I'm going to leave right now."

Tom slammed the backdoor shut after he had arranged her legs, then got into the front.

"I think she ... she OD'ed on e's, speed and some other stuff. I can't take her home to my place, and I can't take her home to her place."

"Take her to a hospital," Chris fumed.

The girl behind them murmured something that sounded like "asshole".

"The rule is, if she can talk, she's fine," Chris said.

"Please, I didn't know who to call," Tom said. 

Chris took a deep breath, then turned the key in the ignition. At least they needed to get away from here. 

"Okay, here's what's going to happen," he said, gritting his teeth. "We're taking her to the next hospital, and we'll just kick her out at the entrance of the emergency department and then I'm going to drive home."

"No, please," Tom begged him, "please don't do this. If her parents find out, there will be hell—they're strict."

"Not my problem," Chris said under his breath, steering out of the village and onto the main road.

"You can't do that!" Tom protested, and in that moment it occurred to Chris how young Tom really was.

"Don't tell me what to do," Chris said furiously.

Tom fell silent.

Then he put a hand onto Chris' thigh and stroked it, letting it wander up, cupping his cock and balls.

"I'll do whatever you want," he whispered, throwing a furtive glance at the girl on the backseat, "tell me what you want, I'll do it right now."

"You'll do whatever I want anyway," Chris pointed out tersely.

"Do you want me to surprise you then," Tom wheedled, "I'll be creative."

"You already surprised me enough today." 

To his chagrin Chris noticed he was slowing down and steering away from the main road. He pulled to a stop in front of a gas station that also had a convenience store.

Sighing Chris got out, opened the back door, then examined the girl. She was ghostly pale, her lips looking yellowish. There was a bit of foam in the corners of her mouth, but she was breathing normally.

He asked Tom to buy him a coffee and some water for the girl. Tom came back with a large coffee, a can of Pringles, yoghurt, orange juice, danish and two bottles of flavoured water.

"What is that?" Chris asked.

"I just bought stuff she likes. She'll need food, when she wakes up," Tom said, and put the bag into the car.

Chris shrugged, then arranged Susan's body, so she wouldn't inhale her own vomit should she wake up and puke.

"How much did she take?" he asked Tom, who was standing behind him.

"I don't know," Tom said, "Five, six. She drank a lot too, and I think she had a bit of coke as well. Pretty sure she smoked weed in the afternoon, before the party started. She never does that much."

Chris took a blanket out of the trunk (the same he had used a week ago in the park with Tom) and covered her. He bent close to her, took her wrist. Her heartbeat was rapid, and her temperature too high, but her breathing even. 

He left the doors open, in case she was going to vomit, then sat in the front again.

"I broke up with her tonight and she got ... mad at me, I guess," Tom said.

"You broke up with her at a party? I'd be mad at you too," Chris said, getting tired. God, was he grateful not to be a teenager anymore.

"I didn't think she'd react that way," Tom murmured. "We never really ...."

He didn't finish the sentence and Chris didn't need to ask.

"She just needs to rest a few hours, then she'll be ok," Chris said instead. 

"It looked scary—she was dancing, downing shots, then she collapsed and spasmed." 

Tom threw a glance at the sleeping girl.

"Why did you break up with her anyway?" Chris asked.

"I wanted to for a long time. Guess I'm not into chicks," Tom said. He studied his hands. "And she started to ask me ... about ... and I realized I didn't want to."

Chris scratched his neck.

"I don't understand why you called me," he said finally, "of all people. What about your friends?"

Tom shook his head.

Behind them the girl did start to retch. Chris got out and took care she didn't vomit into the car, but onto the parking lot. She seemed to feel a lot better afterwards. He gave her the bottled water Tom had bought and she gulped it down gratefully. Tom put a folded sweater underneath her head, then they left the parking lot.

"Can she stay at your place?" Tom asked, Chris gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Over my dead body," Chris said, "if that gets out—I'll lose everything, and I've got stuff to lose."

"She can just sleep it off and tomorrow she'll just go her way."

"I don't really get, why you would even want that—aren't you at least a little worried, that she might learn things about you, you wouldn't want her to know?"

"You wouldn't tell," Tom said.

"Oh, wouldn't I," Chris was aware he was already driving to his own place. His neighbourhood was not as polished and pretty as Tom's neighborhood for sure, but compared to the other places he had lived in the past, it was luxurious. He had been lucky with the rent—the house was extremely small and old, too small for a family and young, childless couples wanted to live in the city, not in the suburbs.

Chris carefully lifted the girl out of the car. Thankfully she was much lighter than Tom. Chris still felt the pulled muscle in his back and grimaced. Tom walked behind him, carrying her bag, the water-bottles and the Pringles cans, looking around, but no one was watching them.

Chris laid her down onto his couch, with the blanket wrapped around her, took of her shoes and then sat down and turned the TV on, watching a replay of some 70s movie. Tom sat down in his office chair at the desk and silently watched him.

Half an hour later she woke up—groggy and disoriented but sober enough to hurl some insults at Tom, and drink the water Chris gave her, eat some Pringles, then fell promptly back asleep. 

When Chris checked her temperature and her pulse again, both seemed to be normal. 

Half an hour later he drove Tom home. There was really nothing he could do for her anyway.   
When they were at the driveway, Chris said, "I don't give a shit about your life and your teenage drama. Don't ever again pull a stunt like this."

"Sorry," Tom said. 

"I mean it. I'm not your friend," Chris said sharply. 

"I panicked," Tom said. "I never saw someone OD before and I felt it's my fault, and I didn't know what to do."

They both sat there, silent. 

It was his own fault, Chris thought sullenly. Had he not began to blackmail Tom and start this whole thing (whatever this thing was) he wouldn't be sitting here.

"Hey," Tom said softly, undoing his seatbelt and inching closer to Chris, "want me to suck your cock?"

He squeezed Chris' cock through his denims.

Chris let out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm tired. I need to go home and sleep."

Tom took his hand off Chris cock again.

"See you tomorrow then," he said.

"Yeah, yeah," Chris made a shooing motion with his hand.

Tom climbed out of the car and walked up the drive way. Chris was about to reverse, when he noticed the light in the living room was on. He had to bend slightly forward, to see that Mr. Hiddleston— _James_ —was sitting at the dining table, working. From the right side he saw Tom enter the room, leaning against the doorway, saying something that looked like "Hi".

James didn't look up, only raised an eyebrow. He looked as if he was mumbling, then with a frown continued leafing through a book and type something into his notebook.

Tom pushed himself off the door frame, said something else.

His father nodded absentmindedly and waved into Tom's direction, again without looking at him. 

Tom stood for a while, looking strangely forlorn. He pushed his hands into his pockets, and rocked on the balls of his feet, apparently waiting for something. Chris doubted James even noticed his son standing there.

Tom turned around to leave, but then stopped his movement and stepped closer to the window, gazing into the darkness, directly at Chris.

Chris wondered if Tom could even see him, with all the lights off outside. For a reason he could not explain he could not immediately tear himself from the tableau that presented itself in front of his eyes—the absent father in the night, working, far away in his mind, the quiet of the living room, the weird solitude, and Tom standing there, asking for something, in a voice that couldn't be heard. 

Chris found the scenery unsettling and eerie, couldn't help but feel that he had witnessed something naked and ugly, something he wasn't supposed to see. For a moment he felt as if they were both ghosts in each others lives.

He backed out of the driveway, mindful of the tulips he had planted a few weeks ago, and drove home.

When he woke up the next morning, he found the breakfast Susan had bought in the cafe around the corner, a large coffee and a thank you note. She also had left him some money, in case she had soiled his car, and her number, urging him to call, should it not be enough.

He called the Hiddlestons and took a day off, then slept before he had to go to work at the school. Neither Tom nor Susan were to be seen, but when Chris walked through the halls he overheard some of their friends gossiping.

The next day he turned up at the Hiddleston's after Tom had gone to school. He worked until three o'clock, then left before Tom returned. 

He did not text him.

He did not call him.

On Thursday he had to work at the school again.

He saw Tom from far away, sitting in the courtyard, on a bench, surrounded by friends. Susan sat on another bench, with two girls.

Tom didn't acknowledge him, but Susan waved at him, then came over and thanked him again. Chris implored her, not to tell anyone—if it'd be known that he had driven a teenager under influence to his home, he'd lose his job. He didn't entirely trust her assurances, but she seemed to be a nice girl. 

After he was done cleaning up the gym, Tom waylaid him in a corridor.

"Hey," he said.

"Good afternoon, Tom," Chris said politely. 

"Are you coming by this afternoon?" Tom asked.

"Yes, please tell your mother I'll be on time—three o'clock sharp," Chris was a little bewildered by Tom's behavior. 

Tom had never sought him out before just to ask him if he was coming over.

"I'll see you later then," Tom said.

Chris nodded as politely as possible, and even stepped back.

Tom moved forward, and ground himself against Chris, then bit his neck.

"See you later then," he repeated meaningfully into Chris' ear, grinning as he fondled Chris' halfhard cock. 

Chris grabbed Tom's arms and gently pushed him away.

"See you later," he told Tom, then turned around and went back to his work. 

"Hey," said Otis, the other janitor. Chris nearly jumped. Where had he even come from?

"What was the Hiddleston boy doing here?" Otis asked, narrowing his eyes distrustfully.

"Er. Just gave me a message from his mother," Chris lied, feeling a shiver run down his spine. "I'm working for them, in their garden."

"Why would he come all the way down to the basement?" 

Chris shrugged.

"No idea."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More plot. And more porn.
> 
> Just a head up for those who skipped the last chapter due to Rex' appearance: 
> 
> Out of the blue Tom calls Chris in the middle of the night and asks him to pick up his passed out (ex) girlfriend from a club. After driving Tom home, Chris catches a glimpse of Tom's dysfunctional relationship with his father.
> 
> Spooked by this, Chris stays away from Tom for a while, which, surprisingly, is not to Tom's liking.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This chapter: No Rex, a bit of daddy!kink, lots of family drama and dark secrets.
> 
> If you're triggered by sexual abuse committed by an older member of the family or not really into plot, this is not for you. 
> 
> Please tell me if this chapter needs additional warnings.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Many thanks to [schemingreader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/schemingreader) for betaing the dialogue between Edmund, Chris and Mr. Hiddleston. The rest is unbeta'ed but I did want this part to be proper English ;)

Chris avoided Tom for the next two weeks.

 _Mainly_ , as he told himself, because he had so much to do now. The job at the school took its toll—it paid well, but was tiring. For some reason working in the midst of all these kids, who all had these impossibly bright futures, cleaning up their shit, grated on him.

Maybe it was unfair but in these moments he hated Tom the most. He even hated the self-abandonment with which Tom had let himself fall into this, this sordid game of theirs. It was a risk he took, but it was a calculated risk. In the end beautiful, rich boys like Tom would always be safe. The world had ways to shield people like him. He had no real reason to fear Chris. Chris knew that, but in the few moments when it became evident, that Tom knew it too, Chris wanted nothing more than to tear Tom apart, to break him so thoroughly that nothing of him would remain intact.

It was different at the villa.

It was easy to avoid Tom there now: the father was often at home these days, working in the living room, occupying the dining table. As far as Chris could tell, he used the study only for sending emails. Mr. Hiddleston (in his private thoughts Chris still couldn't call him James) seemed to compensate his relative introvert attitude by taking up as much space in the house as he could. When he worked from home he used the entire living room.

Chris took care to arrive after Tom had left for school, and sometimes shared a coffee with the Hiddlestons in their kitchen. When he packed up in the afternoon he'd make sure to leave before Tom came home.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays he only worked at the Hiddleston's place. In the mornings he did the gardening, and moved on to the noisier drilling and hammering during the later morning hours. 

The first week after the incident with Susan, Tom hardly acknowledged him.

Mr. Hiddleston was the one seeking him out, whenever he was taking a break from his work, whatever he was doing, staring up admiringly at the tree house.

"My brother," he said one day, out of the blue, "he's also great with these kind of things. I admire that."

He waved a hand around, gesturing at the garden and the wood planks in front of the tree house, the saw and the drill.

Chris assumed he meant carpentry.

"It's all just cutting and sawing," he replied, "lugging heavy stuff around."

He tried to come up with better words.

"It's nothing where you work your brain ..." he said. "You do cancer research, yeah? I mean that'll help a lot of people. That's _really_ useful."

Mr. Hiddleston made a dismissive gesture.

"It's all rather academic. My research is funded by private sources. The reality is I work for a corporation that pays me for my results. I am not working for the greater good or for the public."

"I see," Chris said, although he didn't really understand.

"Sometimes I would like to do that," Mr. Hiddleston continued in a dreamy tone. "Live in the nature, cut wood, sweat, work, eat simple, natural food be one with the world around us. I have a huge respect for the work you're doing, Chris."

"Thanks," Chris said, as he was measuring a supporter beam for the second level. He kept himself from asking, "So why don't you do it then?"

"I'm trapped in my life though it seems," murmured Mr. Hiddleston, answering Chris' unasked question. "Hopelessly denatured and degenerated."

He laughed, though Chris didn't understand what was so funny about that.

Mr. Hiddleston quickly glanced upwards at Tom's window.

"You'd like my brother. He lives in South East Asia but he'll be coming to the celebration. I have to admit that's the main reason I am looking forward to this whole thing."

"And your son's birthday," Chris pointed out, remembering something Diane had told him in passing, although he didn't know why. He just wanted to see Mr. Hiddleston's reaction.

"Yes, yes, of course, but I often forget about my own birthday, so it's hard to keep in mind that others find them so important—quite a vain thing, birthdays, isn't it Chris?"

"Birthdays?" Chris shrugged. "Yeah, but I guess, they're important for kids. I guess."

"Ha, I see you're as bewildered about them as I am," said Mr. Hiddleston. "You know, my brother ... men of our generation ... we were brought up differently. Birthdays were for little children, for girls."

Chris frowned. He couldn't point his finger at what disturbed him about Mr. Hiddleston's speech, so he just kept stubbornly looking at the drawings of the second level and made a few corrections, scrawled around with a red pen.

"Well, Tom is really his mother's son I guess," said Mr. Hiddleston, and Chris looked up at these words. 

"My dad always calls me on my birthday," he said suddenly. The words just fell out of him, "and my parents always send me gifts ... and I'm thirty."

"Of course," Mr. Hiddleston said in his absentminded way, "of course. I'm quite sure your father is proud of you."

That wasn't at all what Chris had wanted to say, but he had no desire to talk any more with Mr. Hiddleston. From the corner of his eye he saw the curtains of Tom's window moving slightly and just wanted to finish the work on the second level and leave this place.

"You know your landscape design skills are impressive," Mr. Hiddleston said. "I have to be honest with you but I never cared for the garden ... the lawn, the trimmed hedges—too manicured, too boring.Then you turned this place into this tropical landscape, and now I feel for the first time, that this place is properly utilised. A real piece of nature, not just a show piece."

Chris ducked his head, feeling uncomfortable. All he had done was planting some big leafed plants here and there. He hoped Mr. Hiddleston would leave him alone soon.

"And well, the tree house ..." Mr. Hiddleston stepped away from him, to look up at the wood construction, "Great work!"

"Glad you think so," mumbled Chris, furiously re-sketching the second level and third level. "Let's hope it holds up."

Mr. Hiddleston laughed, scratching his neck.

"It definitely looks sturdy to me."

Chris gave him a thin-lipped smile.

"Well, it was nice to chat with you, Chris. Will you stay for dinner?" 

"Not tonight, but thanks," Chris said, vehemently trying to resist the urge to make an excuse and failing, "I am meeting up with some people I met on my job training program."

"Oh, that's too bad! Diane and I were looking forward to have you for dinner, but maybe next time?" 

Mr. Hiddleston looked at him in a hopeful way.

"Sure, next time," Chris agreed.

 

When Chris arrived at the villa early Saturday morning, Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston were gone. They had left a note on the dinner table for him, even telling him, that there was food in the fridge he could warm up in the break if he wanted to.

It did not escape Chris' notice that there was no such note left for Tom, and upon checking the fridge, no plastic container with food for him either.

He hoped that Tom's friends would arrive and he'd be gone for the day too, but no such luck. Instead he was lounging around the pool, while Chris was working in the garden, lying on his belly and his shorts pushed down to reveal his round, pert buttocks. Chris gritted his teeth and continued watering the plants, trying to ignore his hard-on. 

Little slut.

Later when it became too hot to work in the garden, he started the work on the last and highest level of the tree house. He had persuaded the Hiddlestons to let him build a roof, which he planned to thatch with a suitable material he had yet to research—something that conveyed the spirit of the garden, looking tropical, but being sturdy enough to withstand a more temperate climate.

Before he had started working on it, the third level had always been a bit unstable and prone to shifting, as soon as the weather got windy, but the supporter beams he had added had improved the stability of the construction. He took down the rickety, thin railings and replaced them with wooden slates, creating an enclosed and protected space. He was nearly finished with two sides of the level, when Tom's curly head appeared at the entrance, above the floor. 

Chris expected some nasty remark, but all Tom did was observing him, elbows leaning on the wooden floorboards.

"Hey," Chris said finally, when he couldn't ignore Tom any longer, "what's up?"

Tom said nothing, but shifted slightly. It was then, that Chris saw the D-ring of his collar glinting.

When Chris stubbornly continued sawing, Tom pulled himself up. 

"It's not really stable yet, you shouldn't be up here," Chris lied. 

Tom crawled on all fours over to him, holding a small bottle of lube in one hand. Subtle.

He was wearing some sort of pleated mini-skirt, but he may as well have been naked—the skirt was made from some transparent, semi-stiff material, like organza.

Chris tried to keep his eyes trained on the wooden planks, but could not help seeing Tom holding the leash in his mouth.

Suddenly Chris found it hard to breathe.

"Tom ..." he said weakly.

When Tom was close, he started pawing at Chris, a bit like a kitten wanting attention, and whining softly. Chris saw a glimpse of Tom's hard cock, straining against his belly. Chris moved away a bit, but then Tom put his hand onto his cock. 

Chris groaned. 

Tom took hold of his right hand, then turned off and pried the saw from his fingers. Chris let it happen. He shouldn't. He didn't want to ... he just could not remember why. Tom bent down, pushed his arse up and at the same time pressed his face into Chris groin. He unzipped him, and pulled out the thick, red shaft. As soon as he squeezed it lightly, whitish pre-cum oozed out and Tom licked it off, smiling, then teased his glans with his tongue. 

Chris laid a hand onto his bare bum, stroking it.

"Is that how you were dressed all morning?" 

Tom nodded, then closed his eyes and took his shaft in. Chris threw his head back, gritting his teeth. Having avoided Tom for so long, he felt like coming immediately.

God, this felt so good. And the way Tom moaned around his cock, the blissful way he sighed and licked, as if he was just coming from sucking him off—a lot of cocksuckers tried to pull that show off, but in Chris' opinion no one did that more convincingly than Tom. 

He tilted his hips, fucking Tom's mouth, who let out a loud moan, wriggling his ass. Chris found himself rubbing the cleft. Tom spread his legs further, arched like a bitch, pushing his ass into Chris hand.

"What is it you want, slut, hm?" Chris asked. Tom whined and sped up his sucking. When Chris finally wanted to ease out to fuck him, Tom held him in place with his hands. He opened his eyes and winked. Then he took the entire shaft in, and Chris felt the air leave his lungs when the tip of his cock was squeezed by Tom's throat.

He nearly passed out from the sensation. He hadn't been deep-throated very often, and he was pretty sure no one had ever taken him _that_ deep. When Tom moved forward it felt as if at least half of his cock was in his throat. Had the boy no gag-reflex at all? 

Tom had his eyes half-open, and Chris could see the mirth and triumph in them. Before he could say anything, Tom swallowed again, and Chris almost howled. 

He could finally retaliate, when Tom shifted again, and he got to finger his rim. Of course he was wet and open, like a cunt. Chris let two fingers slip in and Tom gasped, then clenched. He started moving back and forth rhythmically and whine pleadingly.

"Someone wants to get fucked desperately, hm?" Chris said. Tom communicated his agreement by sucking even harder, and Chris' eyes rolled back.

He pulled the lube towards himself, shaking the bottle labelled "Maximus" tentatively. The consistency was thick, viscous,transparent, a lube often used for fisting.

"You came with plans, didn't you, little slut?" he whispered into Tom's ear, then yanked his head away from his cock. 

Tom laughed breathlessly.

"Not up for it, old man?"

Chris grinned. 

Tom pushed himself up on his arms and regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes. His lips were swollen red and glistening with saliva. They were so cherry red, they looked painted.

"Sluts like you should only open their mouths to suck cock," Chris said, knowing what it was Tom wanted to hear, and he caught a smile, right before Chris grabbed his curls and pushed him down onto his cock again.

Chris held the lube bottle right over Tom's hole and pushed the dispenser down. A dollop the size of a walnut landed on it and Chris began to carefully smear it around and into Tom's hole, pushing it in with two fingers. He crooked them slightly, satisfied to hear Tom squeal and feel him clench whenever he brushed the little nub inside the tight channel.

Soon Tom was loose enough to take more, and Chris slowly inched his third finger in. Tom's cock was dripping pre-cum onto the wooden floor boards. Chris pulled him off his cock, afraid to come too soon. Instead he pushed Tom's face onto the floor, between his legs, so his ass was even more raised. 

He liked how Tom felt inside, so slick and yet velvety, so tight and yet opening up to him like a flower. 

His own little whore, his cock-sucking slut. 

When he pushed the fourth finger into Tom began to whine in a strange high-pitched tone and pant open-mouthed. He clawed at Chris' thighs. Chris could not tell if he was trying to move away or to arch into him. 

Chris let go of Tom's hair, and instead began to pet him, like one would pet a nervous, anxious dog.

"Shh," he murmured, "you'll feel good in a moment."

"Aaaah," Tom moaned. He turned his head, and looked up at Chris, tears running down his cheeks.

Chris took his time now, twisting his hand, caressing the dark cleft with his thumb, pouring more and more lube onto this hand.

"You're such a bitch in heat," he crooned, "such a greedy whore."

Tom cried out when Chris pushed into his prostate, shuddering.

"Oh ... god," he whimpered.

After a while Chris found Tom was relaxed enough. He took the bottle a last time and poured even more lube onto Tom's cleft and worked it in, then folded his thumb into his palm. 

He began to slowly push his hand into Tom's hole.

"No," Tom suddenly said, and began flailing with his left arm, the other hand holding on tightly to Chris' hips, "I can't."

Chris stopped mid-movement.

"Listen, my little bitch" he whispered, bending down to Tom's ear, "you're gonna take this, do you understand?"

Tom looked up at him, his eyes large.

"I thought I could take it, but it hurts too much," he sobbed.

"What did I tell you before about sluts, hm?" Chris asked sharply.

Tom closed his eyes, breathed out. Then a change came over his features.

"Please, daddy," he begged with a small voice.

Chris looked into Tom's face. Tom's eyes suddenly looked impossibly large and shiny, and he was biting his lower lip. Something in Chris' chest softened. It wouldn't do to fuck up his toy too much.

"Alright, my baby slut," he said, "I'll go slow."

"Thank you, daddy," Tom whispered gratefully.

He laid his head onto Chris' thigh and closed his eyes. When Chris began to move his hand again, he let out a high, keening sound. His legs trembled. 

Chris did, as he promised and inched in very slowly and carefully.

Once his middle-finger was deep enough, he took care to massage Tom's sweet spot and Tom thanked him with a guttural moan.

Then the thumb touched the rim. Chris pressed and prodded at the rim, caressed it. With the other hand he reached underneath Tom to find his cock leaking and hard.

Tom gasped, looked up at him with flushed cheeks, as if ashamed, and Chris grinned down—"See what I've found here," he said, "look at that." He stroked Tom's slim cock and Tom began to move his hips, rocking back. Chris used Tom's movement to slip in his hand further. 

Since the rim was now (obscenely) stretched around at the widest part of the hand he continued pushing in without stopping. 

Tom screamed in a raw, unrecognisable voice.

"That's a bit more than you can handle, hm?" Chris said.

And then he pushed a bit more, and just like that, his entire hand was inside Tom. Tom didn't even react to what Chris said—he seemed to be in a haze of pain, his eyes leaking tears, gasping and moaning, rocking back and forth on his knees.

"Too much," he breathed at some point, "too much. Please ... daddy."

"Don't you want to make daddy proud?" Chris rumbled.

Tom swallowed at these words, then nodded.

Chris beamed at Tom. 

The boy looked so perfect—completely destroyed, his cheeks and nose reddened, leaking tears and if Chris wasn't mistaken, he was drooling as well. Every muscle in his lean, smooth body was tense, and he was shivering and shaking, with pain or with lust or with both. 

"If you can take two cocks, you can take a fist," Chris said, almost in a stern way, cherishing the boy's whimpering. With these words he twisted the hand inside Tom, who arched up, his eyes wide open, clawing at Chris.

Once his fingers were pressing onto Tom's prostate, he began to pull his fingers in, and to form a fist. The slippery resistance of his lubed ass, his involuntary clenching and spasming combined with the unbelievable heat nearly set Chris himself off. 

Tom scrunched his eyes shut.

Chris fucked him slowly, but Tom seemed to need more, impatiently moving back and forth.

"O daddy," he kept murmuring.

Finally Chris' hand was a fist and he began to press it into Tom's prostrate, and Tom arched up again, but this time Chris could see that he was in ecstasy.

"Fuck," Tom screamed out.

Chris grinned, and pushed the fist back in.

"You ... can ... go ... deeper," Tom gasped, looking up at him pleadingly.

Chris obliged–he pushed his fist deeper in with every thrust. Almost half of his underarm was swallowed by Tom's demanding hole.

"So... fucking ... good," Tom whined.

Chris sped up now, every time massaging Tom's prostate with his knuckles. Tom screamed and sobbed, plucking at his own stiff nipples, a sign that he was very close.

Finally Chris twisted his arm, literally pushed into Tom's sweet spot, and felt it contracting.

"I'm coming," Tom gasped, "Oh fuck, daddy, I'm coming."

And coming indeed he was—his cock jumped and began to spurt come over the floor boards, and the pink flush that had spread over his entire chest deepened into a red.

For a whole minute he screamed without interruption, shaking and trembling. Every time Chris moved his fist, Tom whined and sobbed anew, begging him.

"Very good," Chris praised him continuously, "you're doing so well."

Finally Tom's eyes rolled back, and with a last tremor going through his body, his head fell onto Chris' thighs. 

Carefully and very slowly Chris opened his fist inside Tom, then pulled the hand out with a wet, slick noise. 

He blindly groped for a pack of wet wipes and found it, behind his tool kit, cleaning up his hand. 

Tom had truly passed out. 

He moved the boy, so that he was lying on his side, backside turned towards him, angled for his phone, and took a few pictures of the red, glistening distended hole. It was so puffy and swollen and wet, it looked really like a well-fucked cunt.

At some point Tom woke up. Instead of cursing or hissing at him, he looked back at Chris' camera and actually smiled, then with a smirk pulled his cheeks apart to show more of his hole. For the last pic he put his aviators back on and stuck his tongue out at Chris.

"Nice, whore," Chris said.

"Mmmh," Tom replied, grinning mischievously.

Then he crawled over to Chris and took his hard cock into his mouth.

"Fuck!" Tom's sucking was so vigorous and strong, Chris nearly came right away. Tom bobbed his head up and down, and stilled only, cock in his mouth, when Chris took another picture.

When Chris finally came, shouting and cursing, Tom didn't right away swallow his spunk, but kept it in his mouth, playing with it, then let some of it dribble down his chin. He wiped it over his face, turning his face into a filthy mess.

"You're unbelievable," Chris told him, "fucking unbelievable."

Tom grinned at him, then crawled over to him, and curled up beside him, curly head in his lap. He licked and sucked his fingertips, chasing the taste of cum but his eyes were falling close again.

"Mmh, that was so good," Tom mumbled with a sleep-heavy voice, "love you so much, daddy."

Almost immediately he began to snore his little cat snore, knees tucked under his chin, one of his hands on Chris' hip. 

Chris sat frozen for a long time, not daring to move, although his legs were starting to fall asleep.

___

„This is Chris, our landscape artist,“ said Mrs. Hiddleston in her robust, yet composed way. It’s a talent of people born with money, who have learned to appear grounded, to behave just _like everyone else_. Chris always felt the slight desire to dislike Mrs. Hiddleston ( _Diane_!) because of her expensive yet bland fashion sense, her polished yet practical short nails, her enormous living room, her vacations in Tuscany, her accent, her cushioned, protected life but failed miserably—she was all of this, all of the things he detested, but she was also a sweet, maternal, honest woman, not unlike his own mother.

"Landscape artist!" the other man exclaimed.

Mr. Hiddleston’s brother, Edmund, turned out to be one of these abrasive and brusque types who thought their abrasiveness was endearing. Despite the fact he knew next to nothing about landscaping or horticulture he involved him in a conversation about tropical plants and Chris had to explain how he had modelled the Hiddleston’s front garden and endure criticism for the way he had shaped the pool area. 

Absentmindedly he scanned the crowd for Tom. After a while he found him, leaning at the pillar of the main entrance. He was wearing a blue shirt and trousers, and would have looked quite handsome, were it not for the sullen expression in his face. 

Two or three of the boys Tom used to hang out with in school were here too, smoking and posturing. Whenever they were pulled aside to be introduced to a friend of their father, they adopted a boisterous attitude, eager to be treated as grown ups.

A couple Chris hadn't met yet, passed Tom, and chatted with him. He made the effort to stand straight and seemed polite and pleasant. A few things he said made them laugh. A waiter went by, and everyone took a glass of wine and had a few toasts.

After a while Mrs. Hiddleston spotted him, and pulled him away. 

"So, I hear you had a run in with the law in your youth," Edmund said, "did a few foolish things."

"I paid for my sins," Chris replied with a thin-lipped smile.

"Stop pestering my guests," Diane scolded Edmund playfully, then shoved Tom into the group. 

"Remember Tom?" she asked, "when was the last time you saw him?"

"Is this Tom?" Edmund exclaimed, "an inch more and you'll be taller than I am."

He pulled Tom into an embrace.

"Very good to see you boy. It's been ... what ... seven years?" Edmund beamed at Diane and Chris. 

"Time flie—"

"Six years. And three months," Tom said, unsmiling. "I was eleven the last time I saw you. Almost twelve."

"You've got a good memory," Edmund said, after a pause. "Or you must have really missed me." He winked at Tom, nodded to Diane and Chris, then walked away to the buffet.

"What is the matter with you, Tom?" Diane asked, flabbergasted. "You used to love him as a kid."

Tom only emptied his wine glass and walked away too. Diane looked after him, frowning.

"I hope you forgive him his rudeness. I think he never forgave his uncle for leaving Europe so suddenly," Diane said to Chris, "although I thought that he'd be over it."

"Children can be weird with being abandoned," Chris found himself saying. "They suss things out. And they find it hard to forgive." 

He saw Tom chatting with a group of girls. One of them was Susan, and she was laughing at something he said. Ah, so they had made up. Good.

Diane put an arm onto his arm.

"Boys his age are difficult, and I think, he'd not take kindly to his old mum harassing him, so I'll leave him be for the moment," she said lightly, "would you be so kind and help me find my husband? I fear he's hiding somewhere."

Chris smiled down at her, took her arm, and led her through the crowd of eating and drinking people. 

Diane had been right, and they found Mr. Hiddleston in deep conversation with Edmund, on the seond level of the tree house. A day before Diane had put some very colourful Moroccan furniture in there, two hand-painted, octagonal coffee tables, an orange, low sofa, two or three ottomans. 

"Ah, come up, come up!" Mr. Hiddleston gestured for Chris to sit beside him.

"You've met my brother, I heard!" He patted Edmund's knee.

Chris toasted him with his wine glass. 

Diane sat on an ottoman beside him, cradling her glass of Merlot. 

"Edmund is living in South East Asia," Mr. Hiddleston said, then turned to his brother, "I have lost track of the places you've been to—where are you living now, Ed? Phuket?"

"Bali," Edmund said, "I can't stand living in the UK any longer. People in Bali are so peaceful and spiritual ... and grateful. Western people are rotten."

Chris said nothing to that, but caught Diane pressing her lips together and rolling her eyes. Mr. Hiddleston—James—though, looked with watery-eyed admiration at his brother.

"You've always been uniquely independent and strong-willed," he mumbled, "Bali is very beautiful but I could never stay in some of the places you lived for years."

"To be honest, from all the places I've been to, I found Scandinavia the hardest to live in," Edmund said. "Horrible, entitled people."

He winked at Chris in a conspiratorial manner, "and the ugliest women you can ever imagine."

"Edmund," Diane said scandalised.

"Ah, Diana, you've got no reason to be angry! You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met—you take care of yourself but I am sorry, Scandinavian women are not only homely but also entitled."

"Entitled," Chris echoed, re-filling his wineglass. If he was to spend any more time with this man and listen to his disgusting generalisations he needed to be drunk. Apparently Diane thought so too, because she put her empty glass beside his.

"Take Asian women for example," Edmund mused loudly, "they are not only beautiful and know how to take care of themselves—they know how to treat a man."

Diane's face was a bland mask. Chris took a very large gulp of his wine. 

"Well, anyway," Edmund said, who realised that he had gone a bit too far, "that lovely tree house you built, reminds me of Bali, at least the thatched roof."

Chris drank from his wineglass to not have to speak. He must look like a wino he thought, constantly that damned wine glass in his face.

"I always wanted a tree house, like we had in our garden," James said to his brother, who hummed in agreement.

"But that tree house was a real tree house, up in the trees," Edmund said, "do you remember how we had to climb up a rickety ladder up there? Once you fell off and broke your elbow."

He laughed as if had made a hilarious joke. "I won't ever forget your face!"

Mr. Hiddleston grimaced but said nothing. "It was terribly unsafe," he said.

"But that's what was great about it, Jim," Edmund said, "life isn't about safety. This tree house won't ever replace the one of our childhood. It's an imitation, a fake."

Chris stood, and leaned over the railing, forcing himself to remain calm.

"No offense, Chris, by the way," Edmund droned from behind.

"None taken," he said lightly, without looking back. It was getting darker by the minute and he had lost sight of Tom. The girls were still where they had been standing before (Chris had to squint).

"I really like this construction," Edmund said generously, "for someone who learned carpentry in prison this is a great achievement. And the fact it doesn't collapse under my weight is proof of your talent!"

Mr. Hiddleston laughed quietly. 

To not be impolite, Chris stepped back from the railing and joined the round again.

In that moment Tom's head appeared in the opening of the tree house. 

Before he could duck discreetly away, Mr. Hiddleston called out to him.

"Tom! Come here! We've been looking for you!" 

Hesitantly Tom pulled himself up, then put a bottle of whisky on the floor, and clambered into the confined space.

"I don't think poor Tom would enjoy being forced to sit with the olds," Diane said lightly, but Chris felt the underlying nervousness in her tone. Mr. Hiddleston didn't pick it up.

"You can endure us olds for ten minutes, right, Tom?" he said.

Tom sat wordlessly down on an ottoman. 

Edmund reached past Tom to grab the Whisky bottle.

"Yours?" he asked Mr. Hiddleston. 

Mr. Hiddleston nodded, looking at Tom over the rim of his glasses.

"Where did you get that?"

"In the cabinet," Tom mumbled, "in the study."

Mr. Hiddleston pointed a finger at him, "I don't recall you asking for permission."

"You never drink it anyway," Tom said, his face heating up. Chris could see that clearly, even in the darkness and couldn't help finding the blush on his cheeks pretty.

"It's of course not about the permission thing, or the underage drinking—"

"I'm allowed to drink at home," Tom said.

"—it's more the taking things without asking. The entitlement. That's this generation. Taking things without asking, simply taking."

"If you ask me, that's because you've been too lenient with him," Edmund said. 

Chris saw Diane bristling.

"It's this leftist anti-authoritarian, overly liberal upbringing, Jim. When you're young you automatically assume that you can do whatever you want, and the rules don't apply to you. This liberal coddling makes it worse."

Edmund drank down his wine, obviously just getting started. Chris darted a look at Tom's face which was hidden partly in the shadows but could glimpse the expression of annoyance.

"At Sandhurst we learned why honour and loyalty are important virtues. Sure, quick thinking and a good head on your shoulders won't hurt, but you first learn to put your ego behind."

Even Mr. Hiddleston looked slightly uncomfortable now. 

"I didn't really enjoy my time at Sandhurst, to be frank," he said, pushing his glasses up, smiling awkwardly.

"Neither did I—it was a tough time. I'm not saying it was easy—but not having it easy made us better men. We were taught that we have responsibilities, not only privileges."

Tom just sat there, staring at the coffee table.

"Well, I always did want Tom to spend more time with you," Mr. Hiddleston said, then turning to Tom, "remember you used to spend the summer holidays in Arezzo?"

There was a slight pause, and Chris became suddenly aware at how fraught the air was with tension. 

In the darkness Edmund's eyes were glinting as he looked somewhat pensively at Tom.

"What about that?" Tom asked waspishly at the same time Edmund said dismissively, "One summer in my care can't undo the damage that has been done over a life time."

"Excuse me, Edmund," Diane said angrily, "I don't think you can just come here and criticise my—"

Edmund raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Don't be so offended, Diane," he said, "I'm just making a few educated guesses here. That's not an insult to you—it's about the schools he's attending, the environment he's in these days, the company he's keeping."

"I am sitting right here," Tom said loudly. He grabbed the whisky bottle, uncorked it and took a big swig, "I'd appreciate if you would address _me_ instead of talking about me as if I were a piece of furniture."

"If you want to be treated like an adult, you should behave like one," Edmund said smugly.

"In that instance I have to agree with my brother," Mr. Hiddleston said, pushing his glasses back.

Chris desperately thought of a way to exit from what was beginning to look like a family drama, when Edmund pulled him into the conversation.

"For example look at you," he said, "from what I know life has dealt you the worst cards—and I apologise for making you uncomfortable here—but you handled it. You made your mistakes, but you paid for them, and now you're on the right track."

Tom snorted, then threw his head back and laughed.

"You fucking hypocrites," he said at last, taking another swig from the bottle.

Diane only looked at him, but didn't chastise him (which was, so Chris concluded, her silent way of agreeing). Instead she looked back at her husband and Edmund, cold fury in her eyes.

"Hey," Chris heard himself say, "I was going to take some of the tables from the pool area to the front—the DJ will be coming any minute. Would you mind giving me a hand, Tom?"

Tom didn't say anything, but put the whisky bottle on the coffee table and stood. 

"See, Chris has already a good influence on Tom," Edmund pointed at his with his wineglass. "Tom doesn't mind giving Chris a hand."

"Enough," Diane said, "I'm proud of Tom. He's a good boy." She wanted to say more, but then saw her husband's horrified expression and closed it again. 

Tom shrugged, climbed down. 

They walked together to the house in silence, Tom walking a few steps behind, his hands in his pockets.

Most people were sitting and standing around on the patio. A few were sitting on the ground, discussing, drunk from the sangrias and the warm summer night.

Chris went into the hut behind the pool, where they kept the sunbeds, umbrellas and garden tables. He pulled a large, wooden table out and together they carried it to the front lawn. Just in that moment two cars came driving up the drive way and the younger guests of the party started cheering. Chris met the DJ, a young guy with a Mohawk hair cut, who told him he would be ok with only one table since he didn't bring records, just equipment. He started talking software to him, and he felt slightly old, while Tom enthusiastically engaged him.

Chris leaned against the door-frame of the main entrance and watched Tom mingling with the crowd. He could see the tension melting off him, his shoulders relaxing. He took his hands out of his pockets to gesticulate. Since the guests were mostly middle-aged scientists and academics such as Mr. Hiddleston the party wasn't overly wild, but the handful of teenagers were enough to lend the whole party a youthful, more adventurous flair.

As it was typical for parties, he got stuck in the kitchen with a few people he had met earlier at the pool. He stayed there: he had no desire to run into Edmund again. Two older women who were both from London, a film maker and an actor, began flirting good-naturedly with him, but when they drunkenly started joking with him, he realised that they were flirting with him in this outrageous manner because they thought he was gay. It vaguely annoyed him and he began to flirt back. Soon the women withdrew, slightly bewildered and disappointed that their new best gay friend turned out to be another lecherous straight dude, who wanted to get into their pants.

Later he wandered around, with his glass in his hand. He spotted Mr. Hiddleston with Edmund, laughing. He saw Diane sitting with another group of people. When he made it back to the kitchen, Tom was sitting at the table, smoking and playing some sort of drinking game with people Chris didn't know.

Tom was already quite drunk, judging from the way he moved his hands and his relaxed features. There was a wild glint in his eyes. He laughed too loudly. Chris thought his carefully maintained straight facade was slipping: he brushed off the girls talking to him, but instead flirted with the men, smiled at them, touched them, regardless if they seemed into it or not. When the guys slapped his shoulder, or squeezed him in a show of camaraderie, he leaned a little too much into them. It was not obvious but then Chris saw, how a few times, Tom put his hand on a guy's knee and left it here, even stroking it a little, while mischievously laughing.

The first guy he did this too, an older man who was here with his wife, didn't notice and laughed with him about a joke Tom had just made. Then Tom removed his hand and grabbed a handful of crisps from a bowl in the middle of the table.

The second time happened when another man sat down beside him, and they started playing cards, another drinking game. Tom stuck a cigarette between his lips, and patted his trouser pockets for a lighter, but couldn't find it. The guy beside him produced one and lit the cigarette. Tom put his right hand on to the man’s thigh and massaged it. The guy laughed it off, and moved his thigh away, pretending nothing had happened then stood up to get another drink. When he came back, he didn't sit back down but stood with a few other people around the table.

Chris had to shift slightly to be able to see Tom. As if Tom sensed his movements from the corner of his eye he turned and looked at Chris. For a moment their eyes locked. 

In a way he realised that Tom was the silent of the centre of this room. People were looking at, they were, if unconsciously, gravitating towards him. He was the motor of the conversations taking place, although he didn't even take part in many of them. He could not help admitting to himself that Tom looked more than beautiful.

He was a radiant summer vision: the sun-kissed skin, the golden hair and turquoise eyes, everything about him clear, bright and clean, like an ocean breeze, like that soft buttery ray of light that the early August days brought. He looked like an advertisement, almost unreal.

And he was. 

Chris felt a strange twinge in his chest, something akin to pain. It felt as if his insides were twisting.

He remembered, how he had thought, that people like Tom would always stay afloat, how they lived in a world that would always know how to take care of them. (And in a strange way his suspicions had been half confirmed upon meeting Mr. Hiddleston's brother).

There was something else though. From all the people in this room he was the only one who could see the lingering darkness in Tom's eyes, the frozen quality of his features. Only he knew that Tom was wearing a mask. This knowledge was supposed to be power he was able to hold over Tom, but for reasons he could not fathom it felt like a burden. 

It was odd, how he'd rather not see that.

He averted his eyes by pretending to take a large sip from his drink. Tom looked away.

"Ah, there you are!" Edmunds voice droned, as he entered the kitchen, pushing past Chris and coming to stand right behind Tom. 

Chris found himself suddenly atuned to every little change in Tom's demeanor. Tom poured himself a double shot of vodka and downed it.

Edmund grabbed the bottle and took a large sip. 

It looked almost coincidental, how most people left the kitchen—everyone smiled at Edmund, said their hellos, but took their glasses and drinks and moved back into the garden, although it had begun to cool down. Some of the torches had burnt down, and left most of the garden in complete darkness. 

The Dj had turned up the bass and the track he was playing made some of the guests whoop and cheer.

"Your father is worried about you, boy," Edmund said, then slapped Tom's shoulder. 

Chris was about to leave the kitchen, but then something in the way Tom inched away, ever so lightly, how he swallowed, how his golden tan looked suddenly grey, made him stay.

Tom didn't say anything, just turned a pack of poker cards between his fingers.

"None of your business," he said. He lit a cigarette, started mixing the cards.

Edmund yanked the cigarette out of Tom's mouth and threw it into the sink.

"Don't get smart with me," he said, "you can do that with your parents, but not with me, and you and me, we both know that, don't you?"

Tom continued to shuffle the cards, his movements mechanical.

Edmund laid a heavy hand onto Tom's head and patted it. Then he pulled Tom slowly from the seat, onto the knees and between his legs. He unzipped himself and pulled out a red, half hard cock.

The cards fell to the floor. Tom, absurdly kept staring at the cards, while allowing his head to be pushed closer towards Edmunds crotch.

"I know how to treat little faggot boys like you," Edmund said in a rough voice.

Chris had never seen Tom so quiet, so defeated. In that moment he was twelve again, he realised, unable to escape. 

Without even thinking he pulled out his phone and opened the camera. By now he was adept in handling his phone with one hand although it was hard to get the angles he wanted.

"You’re a disgrace," Edmund told Tom, "a fucking disgrace. I'll teach you respect."

When Edmund pushed Tom towards his cock, Tom showed a bit of resistance.

"No, please," he murmured, placing his hands against Edmund's large thighs. Edmund angrily pushed Tom’s head back onto his cock.

“Shut up, you stupid boy,” he hissed.

Chris shut the phone, alerting Edmund to his presence, who pushed Tom away and pulled zip up in an admirable speed.

“Hemsworth,” he said.

"Hey, Edmund," Chris said, smiling brightly at him.

Edmund stared at him, his lips slightly parted and wetly glistening, his eyes unfocussed, annoyed about being interrupted.

"Could you please come out and help me with Mr. Hiddleston?" Chris said, "he had a bit too much."

Edmund rolled his eyes.

"Jim was always such a pussy when it came to alcohol," he said, and pushed himself off the table.

Tom slowly got up while watching Chris curiously.

"Think he passed out," Chris said, grinning, "give me a hand in getting him up the stairs?"

When Edmund moved towards Chris, he swayed slightly. Chris led him through a small corridor.

"Where are we going?" Edmund asked, "that's not the way to the garden."

Chris pulled a door on the right side of the corridor open, and pulled Edmund inside the small room. It was the former cold pantry of the house, now used as a regular pantry.

When he turned around, he saw Tom standing in front of him, a silent question in his eyes.

Chris gently pushed him out. Tom shook his head, but Chris shut the door into his face and locked it.

"What the fuck?" Edmund complained. 

Chris grabbed him by the neck and shoved him against a wooden rack, then slammed him headfirst into the wall. 

"What—?" Edmund wailed, but Chris grabbed a fistful of his hair, turned him around and slammed him into the wall once more, this time with the back of his head, carefully measured, not too hard to crack the skull, not too light.

"Are you fucking crazy," Edmund panted, trying to punch back, but Chris could easily take both of his wrists and twist his arms.

"Is it about the boy?" Edmund spat blood. Chris did not reply, but threw him to the ground, where Edmund tried to curl up and get up, but Chris immediately kicked him into his guts. 

He opened his phone and showed Edmund the video.

"Tom's always been a perverted boy," Edmund said hastily, "You have to believe me, he's sick. A pathological liar, an attention seeker. Has always been, even as a child."

“I like this angle,” Chris only said, “Impossible to see the face of the kid who’s blowing you, but your face is _very_ recognisable.”

Chris pulled him up, kneed him in the ribs. Edmund wheezed, while clutching at his chest. 

“Hey, look, here's the part where the kid tells you no, and you tell him to shut up—that’ll go over well with the cops.”

When Edmund was recovered enough to push himself up, Chris kicked him deftly in the ribs, then delivered another kick in the balls. 

“The thing is, _Edmund_ ,” he said casually, “I’m not your brother fawning over you. I’m not one of your friends, who owe you favours, not one of your fucked up public school or Sandhurst buddies. I’m no one. And I’ve got nothing to lose. I was already in prison. You can’t take anything away from me. But I can. I can take your life away with this. Do you understand?”

Chris leaned back against the door, waiting for Edmund to get onto his knees. Edmund looked up at him, a strange leering expression on his face. His eyes narrowed.

"You think you're protecting him," he said, and nearly collapsed again, "The poor, sweet lamb." He let out a sound, that Chris only recognised in hindsight as an attempt at laughter. "Boy, you're in for a nasty awakening."

Chris grinned wolfishly down at him, then grabbed him by the ear and swung him against the wine shelf.

"Don't let yourself be deceived by him," Edmund wheezed, “he’s a little slut.”

Chris walked around him, looking for new creative angles, then bent down, clamped a hand over Edmund's mouth and kicked him hard in the ass, right between the legs.

Edmund shook violently, trying to crawl away from Chris, instinctively trying to protect his ass by turning around. Chris kicked him in the groins, then in the face.

Edmund began to cry.

"Please stop," he sniffled, "please. I'm sorry."

Chris bent down to the whimpering mess. He smelled something sharp, realising that Edmund had pissed himself.

"Here is what is going to happen" he whispered into Edmund's ear, who flinched away from him. Chris grabbed him by the neck, "you will leave and not come back. You will never ever come near Tom again."

Edmund nodded, sobbing.

Chris smiled pleasantly at him. 

"Fucking psycho," Edmund muttered under his breath.

Chris' smile deepened, bringing out his dimples. 

"You know, for a Sandhurst man, you're in pretty bad shape," he informed Edmund.

He wiped his hands onto Edmund's expensive, navy-blue double-breasted jacket.

Then he opened the door to leave.

Tom was leaning against the opposite wall.

Chris didn't acknowledge him, just walked past him and down the corridor, out of the house. 

He saw Diane and Mr. Hiddleston, drunkenly talking to their friends, perched on garden chairs. They tried to cajole him into sitting with them but he only waved at them, walking towards his car he had not parked in the drive way, but further away on the street.

"Chris!"

It was Tom, calling out his name.

This was the first time Tom used his name Chris registered. He did not stop or turn around.

A bony hand gripped his arm, yanked him around and he stared into Tom's face. A sudden gust of wind tousled his hair. In the dim light of the street lamps his eyes looked black.

"You have no idea who you’ve just beaten to a bloody pulp."

Tom was shaking.

"Don't think it matters now," Chris replied tiredly. That dull ache in his chest ... was exhausting. It made him just want to go home, get even more stupidly drunk, cradle his whisky glass and stare at the TV screen. 

Tom gripped him again.

"He's been a banker before he left England," he said, "he beat up a girl who got pregnant by him, and got away with it. No one could do something about it. My mother heard of these rumours and says she doesn't believe them, but I know she does."

He took a deep shaking breath. 

"He fucked something big up at the bank he was working for, stole money, did dodgy business, and would have gone to prison, but grandpa hauled him out of this mess. He'd always been grandpa's favourite. So Uncle Edmund got promoted to Director of Asia Pacific Operations and was shipped off to Hongkong. Grandpa always destroyed anyone who tried to attack Edmund—no one fucks with a member of the DeVere family."

"I had no idea," Chris said.

"Dad's mum was a DeVere before she married, but Edmund took the DeVere name when he got of age. Dad never did."

Chris shrugged.

"Don't you understand? You don't have a chance against uncle Edmund."

Tom stopped, rubbing his arms in a nervous gesture.

"Dad and Uncle Edmund ... they were inseparable as children," Tom in his search for words, stuttered, "I-I mean, Edmund was the bigger brother and always protected my dad who'd been bullied. That’s what dad keeps telling me. He says people who say bad things about my uncle are liars."

Chris thought Tom had never looked so vulnerable before, so desperate and broken. 

"Dad never believed what I told him," he said in a low voice, more to himself it seemed than to Chris, "he's been like that since I came back from Tuscany and asked him not to send me to Uncle Edmund any longer. He was so disappointed in me. And I can't fucking bear it."

This was probably the first moment he saw Tom truly naked.

"I'm sorry," Chris said, wondering why he said it. 

Tom stared at him, bewildered.

"What are _you_ sorry for?"

"For what happened to you," Chris said. His voice suddenly left him.

Tom's face distorted into an angry grimace.

" _You_ of all—"

"I'm no better than Edmund. I know," Chris said. He noticed himself how pathetic he sounded.

Tom opened and closed his mouth, thinking of something to say apparently.

"You have no idea. Don't fuck with people like my uncle," he finally said. He was shivering.

“Maybe, but he was fucking with what’s mine,” Chris replied. A look of surprise flitted over Tom's features.  
Chris grabbed Tom’s head and yanked him down onto his knees, but relaxed his grip, waiting for Tom to free himself.

Tom remained on his knees. Instead he looked up at Chris, a sudden serenity on his face.

“You’re my cock slut," Chris said, "you’re _my_ fuck toy, and no one elses. This is where you belong, at my feet, sucking my cock. Do you understand?”

They stayed like this for a while, both of them silent. Chris realised that he was holding his breath, waiting for Tom's reaction.

Finally Tom smiled and slowly placed his hands onto Chris’ thighs.

“Yes,” he said.


End file.
